


Mine

by Mylifeisaverage



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Dubious Morality, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possession, classic possession, traditional christianity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylifeisaverage/pseuds/Mylifeisaverage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time ago, he disappeared for three days. When he returned, he was... different. He never spoke, he never ate, he never drank. He would scream in his sleep if he ever slept at all. Sometime's he'd slip away into trances for hours on end, whispering to himself in tongues. And that was when they were certain he <em>was</em> their son...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contact

**Author's Note:**

> boi get ready. this one's a doozy.

A tall, stately man in a hat stared impatiently out a stained glass window, watching the rain outside. Sharp eyes and furrowed brow set a look of heaviness and solemnity upon him. The echo of clerics and their underlings pacing through the halls cast a busy air within the parish house he waited in. He stood slender and grounded, emitting a compelling regalness from his very pores. Beside him his wife, a beautiful, dignified woman with blonde curls that framed wise blue eyes, sat in a chair one of the clergymen had set out for her comfort. On her lap, sat a perfectly obedient, silent little boy, eyes cast down and staring at knobby knees that poked out from short trousers. 

“Earl Phantomhive,” a man in white and purple robes approached from the end of the hall, calling the man and his family to attention, “the bishop will see you now.” 

Following the priest down the corridor, the man and his family were asked to wait just outside an office while they were announced. His wife held tight to their son’s hand, and he continued to stare downward. After a moment, the door opened and the priest escorted the lady in with her son, then the man, then closed the door left the office as the bishop’s private meeting commenced. 

“Good evening, Lord Phantomhive,” a pious man of God with a bible-black heart of stone politely greeted the head of the family. He nodded, returning the greeting while his wife gave a graceful curtsy and his son stared at the floor. This was not lost on the bishop, who raised a brow at the boy’s manners. But he said nothing in regards to it, blaming the follies of youth for the follies of parenthood. “I’ve received your letter. I see that you’re in urgent need of my services.”

“Please, call me Vincent.” The man removed his hat, eyes softening as he recalled his order of business. His wife sat beside him, returning her child to her lap. “This is my wife, Rachel, and our only son.”

“A bit old for coddling, isn’t he?” the bishop questioned. Lady Phantomhive only tightened her embrace, defensively refusing to let him go despite his being ten years old. 

“This is the problem,” Phantomhive pressed, “my boy... well, he’s–”

“He’s not well, dear Bishop,” Rachel interjected grimly. The weight of his gaze rested upon her, she swallowed. “Some time ago, he… he disappeared for three days. And when he returned to us, he was different.” 

Deep set eyes rolled in their sockets. The bishop looked upon the boy with hard scrutiny. “In what ways?” 

“He rarely speaks,” she explained, “and when he does it’s only a word or two at a time. He never eats more than a bite a day. He screams such terrible things when he sleeps, and when he doesn’t scream, he’s up before dawn, staring out the window in the attic like his in some sort of trance!” Her lips curled back in disgust. “And his bedsheets are _soaked_ in–”

“It sounds like your boy is becoming a man,” the bishop interrupted firmly, “nothing to be afraid of–”

“They’re soaked in blood!” she countered tartly, wordlessly protesting his tone of voice. The bishop’s eyes widened. Rachel squeezed her son’s hand for comfort. He barely blinked. “And that’s when we know for sure that he _is_ our son,” she dared to go on. A darkness settled over the office. Thunder roared outside, shaking the windows in their frames. Torrential rain whipped through the air like shattered glass. The boy said nothing; he only stared. 

“Sometimes, he speaks in tongues,” Vincent admitted, keeping his voice low. “His voice splits apart into three much lower than mine or any man I’ve spoken with. Sometimes, he exhibits an unnatural strength, throwing tables and servants across rooms.” As he explained some of the more recent happenings, the bishop listened intently, brows furrowing tighter with each unnerving occurrence. 

“What are you saying, Vincent?” the bishop asked, a dire look crossing his features. Earl Phantomhive leaned forward.

“Our son is possessed,” he deadpanned, “by Satan himself.” A streak of lightening painted the sky in purple light. A crash of thunder shook the floorboards. 

“Hmm…” the bishop hummed, pondering the placid look of calmness with which the boy viewed the oriental rug beneath his feet and listened to the world coming to an end just outside. He leaned in across the desk, speaking directly to him. “Excuse me, my child,” he greeted softly, trying not to scare him, “can you tell me your name?” The boy showed no signs of reply. “I’m afraid it’s rather important,” he added as an afterthought. 

Thick lashes covered the boy’s eyes. When they opened again, he spoke. “I’m… Ciel Phantomhive.” Lady Phantomhive gasped at the sound of her own child’s voice, soft and quiet like a dove. It was the first time she’d heard it in days. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” the bishop asked. Ciel nodded. 

“There’s a monster inside me, sir,” he replied politely.

The bishop let out another thoughtful huff. With a glance into the eyes of the boy’s parents, he stood from behind his desk. Rachel whispered for Ciel to stand and join the bishop to speak in private, and to everyone’s surprise, he complied. With a click of heeled boots, the boy was standing, following the bishop with slow timid steps. They stopped side by side at the window across the room, captivated by the storm blowing outside. 

Ciel would barely come up to the bishop’s elbow if he jumped into the air. While the bishop was tall and strong with feet planted and hands folded, Ciel would blow over with the faintest breath of wind. They watched the storm outside from the safety and warmth of the office. Vincent and Rachel watched from the other side of the room, straining to eavesdrop on their private conversation. 

“What happened on the day you met the Unholy One?” the bishop asked, looking out into the storm. Ciel opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. Thin brows bunched together. He cast a wary glance over to his parents, then up to the bishop for strength and guidance. “I am going to help you,” the bishop consoled without meeting the boy’s worried gaze, “tell me as much as you can.” 

Distracted by a small nudge at his elbow, the bishop looked down over his nose at Ciel who searched for comfort. Belching thunder was startling him. After a moment of uncertainty, the bishop unclasped his hands, holding one out for Ciel to hold onto. With someone to cling to, he calmed down and the thunder stopped scaring him. 

“I was reading in the forest,” Ciel confessed quietly, “there’s an oak tree that isn’t too high to climb; that’s where I like to sit. I was there for an hour or two when I heard a voice. It called out to me– No, it… it hummed my name from afar, but it sounded so close.” He remembered that day so vividly. Its events flashed before his eyes. 

_“All by yourself, little one?”_

_“Yes, but it’s okay. I like to be alone. Where is your voice coming from, Sir?”_

_“I’m everywhere. I’m nowhere. I’m in your head.”_

“What happened then?” the bishop asked. Ciel did not reply. There was a bout of tense silence. The boy’s grip on his hand tightened. “Ciel, you have to tell me–”

“I’m trying…” The sound of quiet gasping drew the bishop’s eyes from the window down to Ciel. He struggled to take a complete breath. The harder he tried, the more he panicked. From her seat, Rachel frantically informed the bishop of her son’s severe asthma. But the bishop did nothing. He only watched. 

Ciel’s left hand zoomed out from his side and closed around the bishop’s sleeve, tugging him in close. His mother shrieked. With wide, horror-stricken eyes, Ciel peered deep into space. With a quick jerk, he shook his head, spine tight like a bowstring. The joints in his neck cracked loud enough for the whole room to hear. Ciel’s entire body quivered, but that grip on the bishop’s cassock was relentless and immovable. 

“Bishop,” he whispered, “Please. You have to get me _out of here.”_

The bishop swallowed thickly, “Not until you tell me it’s name.” Ciel’s chest started to heave. “Tell me the name of the beast.” Those bottomless eyes, rounded out like saucers, locked onto the bishop’s very soul. Ciel stopped breathing. 

“I can’t,” he barely managed to grind out, “it calls him.” 

The bishop gave the boy a hardened, unreadable look. The longer his beady eyes analysed the panic shaking Ciel’s body, the more he quaked in fear. “A creature of Hell can do you no harm within these walls, Ciel.”

“It wishes not to harm me. It…” all at once, the tension bled from his face, lips relaxing into a smile, “it fancies me.” 

The bishop’s jaw dropped. “What on Earth…” 

With quickness and agility no one would’ve assumed an old bishop was capable, he swept Ciel up by his armpits. Before he could cry for help, he was dropped into a small closet on the far end of the room. The heavy door slammed shut. With quick hands, the bishop twisted all three of the deadbolts into place, leaving Ciel trapped in a cramped, dark closet. The bishop took a step back. Barely audible hyperventilating mixed with the sound of Rachel’s desperate sobbing. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, “He’s afraid of the dark! You’re scaring him!” She moved to stand, but was returned to her seat in an instant, held fast with a hand and a stern look from her husband. 

“He knows what to do,” he said, “let him do it.”

On the other side of the room, the bishop listened carefully to the voice behind the door from a safe distance. “Ciel?” he called out, voice booming like the thunder outside, “can you hear me?” From inside the closet, Ciel’s breathing quickened even further. The bishop approached the door. “Ciel, it’s going to be alright,” he reassured through four centimeters of mahogany. “I just want to draw it out. Take deep breaths and try to endure.”

It wasn’t long before frightened whimpers trailed the boy’s ragged breathing. His father tried to console his mother’s tears as her worries grew in size. From within the pitch black of the closet, Ciel searched the darkness for movement. He could hear it, the faintest of rumblings seeming to echo from deep within his own mind. He swallowed thickly, eyes flicking back and forth as they adjusted to the lack of light. The air was old and stuffy, smelling of dust and mothballs. His mouth ran dry and his eyes locked on to a terrible sight. 

“Let me out…” he whispered, shuffling backward until his shoulder blades hit the wood of the door. “Bishop, please. Please let me out.” 

“What’s happening, Ciel?” the bishop urged him to answer from the free side of the door, but Ciel was mesmerized by two faintly glowing, crimson irises staring at him from the opposite end of the closet. He tapped his knuckles against the door. 

“Bishop, please I– I swear, I’ll try and–” the gurgling that floated in and out of Ciel’s conscious morphed into a low, throaty hum. Burning like embers, those eyes drifted closer. Two rows of sharp teeth bared themselves, thin lips twisting up into a smirk. The light, insistent tapping rapidly sped into urgent knocking. Ciel’s eyes never moved from the Devil’s looking right back at him. 

“Ciel? Ciel, what’s–”

“Let me out!” he shrieked, getting a good look at those sharp fangs, dripping with drool and starvation. The monster waited just a moment longer, teasing itself before it pounced. “Mummy!” Ciel cried, wanting to turn and pound at the door with both of his fists, but scared to take his eyes off the creature that looked at him like a wounded mouse. The second he turned his back, he would be a goner. 

Rachel was pinned to her chair, held down by Vincent though it pained him to see her in such distress. “He’s claustrophobic!” she shouted, “He can’t breathe! Let me go!” She struggled, forced to listen to the screams of her child tormented by fear; she was helpless, unable to rush to his side and soothe his fright. 

“It’s dark! It’s so dark!” Ciel couldn’t breathe. Every gasp made him feel weak and lightheaded. A spade tongue laved over simpering lips at the feebleness of its prey, and the monster couldn’t contain itself any longer. Tendrils of black mist absorbed the only light that managed to penetrate the heavy door, blinding the little boy trapped within. All was silent. Even the rain seemed to quiet. 

“There’s something in here…”

The bishop and the concerned parents took a thin breath. 

Heeled boots stepped out of the vantablack fog– which had begun to leak out of the cracks in the door for all to see– clicking along the floor until a tall, thin figure stood square in front of the boy in the closet. Ciel’s heartbeat echoed off the walls, his fluttering lungs ached. A gloved hand– with fingers tipped with large black talons– reached out for him, and for a fleeting moment, Ciel wasn’t afraid anymore. 

After a theatre minute of dead silence, the bishop dared to approach the door. All in company held their breaths as the bishop reached out to touch the surface of the door, holding his hand out an arm’s length away. He whispered Ciel’s name, fingertips floating mere millimeters out from the door. 

A burst of superhuman force slammed against the door like a train had taken a running start from within the closet, shaking the door and the wall that framed it. The bishop staggered backward and fell to the floor in a flourish of black robes. Sprawled out on the floor at the Phantomhives’ feet, they all watched in horror. 

There was another great slam at the door that made the wood creak and the deadbolts groan, generating a strong gust of wind that extinguished all light in the office. Only streaks of lightning would illuminate the room every so often until a fiery light– first weak and quivering but rapidly gaining strength– set a crimson glow across the room, painting everything in red.

 _“Episcopus, vis audire?”_ A hundred voices, velvety and low, coalesced into one united chorus emanating from the closet. _Bishop, are you listening?_ Rachel nearly fainted from terror, but her child, her flesh and blood, was in that closet with whatever just spoke to them. She fought to keep her wits about her. But the bishop’s eyes widened in shock; his jaw dropped and his hands grasped at the cross he wore around his neck. From within, he could hear Ciel begging for mercy. He sounded exhausted, on the edge of defeat. The voices responded with a heart-stopping cackle. 

_“Tanta stultitia mortalium est...”_

“No… no no no, please–”

Violent thrashing shook the door. The hinges and deadbolts chattered in their places. Rhythmic, punishing cracks against it punctuated the pained shrieks Ciel made in response. When the voice of her child whined for the beast to be gentle with him, the Lady could sit by no longer. Overcome with realization and unadulterated fury, she shoved away any opposition and lunged for the door. In a frenzy, she tried to twist open the locks, but the hellfire they kept contained burned her fingers through her gloves. 

“Rachel, get away from there!” shouted Vincent, who hid behind the bishop’s desk. 

“What do you think you’re doing? You’ll free the demon!”

“It’s _touching_ my son!” she growled, glaring at the bishop who sat uselessly on the floor. “Get up and fucking help me!” She could hear tiny fingernails gouging the wood, scrambling for something to hold onto. She’d break the door down herself before her son was violated by Evil. While the men scrambled to assist her, still weary of the creature growling inside, Ciel mewling in tandem with the pounding against the door, and edging closer and closer to giving up. When he finally did, the monster let out a pleased hum. 

The Bishop of Marlborough charged forward, using his weight to hold the door shut as it rocked and tossed almost completely off of its hinges. Infra-red light poured from inside the closet, the crevices between the door and the frame belched more black smoke as the light grew in intensity. Lord and Lady Phantomhive had to step back and shield their eyes. With a shout and a final feat of strength, the bishop unlocked the final deadbolt and with one last pound on the door, it swung open, crushing the bishop against the wall. All was silent once more. 

Nothing but pitch blackness oozed from the closet, black smoke mingling with the blood pouring from the flattened bishop behind the door. Ciel was nowhere in sight. The Phantomhives’ eyes were glued to the grizzly scene of the bishop’s death. Hot red blood pooled below him, sinking into the floorboards. A small voice caught their attention and they both peered into the dark of the closet. 

_“Amorea mortuus sum...”_

Stepping out of the mist that swallowed the dim light of the office, their boy finally emerged, wearing nothing but his shirt which had been unbuttoned and clawed to pieces. Ribbons of blood painted his thighs and dripped all the way down to the floor. The very second he set his feet on the rug– exiting the closet completely– every candle in the room ignited, restoring the light. He was consumed in that closet. Sharp teeth scraped up his fragile skin. Bruises of all shapes and sizes riddled his neck and jawline, cuffed his wrists, and framed his thighs. He suddenly wretched forward and Rachel let out a shriek, watching as he vomited black bile and a single raven feather from red and swollen lips. 

“You’re darling boy is frail like a fawn, Rachel Dallas.” A smug voice crooned from deep inside Ciel’s chest. His tongue darted out to clean away a daub of bile dotting the corner of his mouth. He raised his eyes, revealing a throbbing star etched into the iris of his right eye, bleeding below the surface and dying it purple. He smirked. “His fear makes his heart beat _so_ fast.”

The hellion made itself comfortable in their little boy’s skin, using thin arms to hug around his waist, trailing his fingertips upward along his shoulders until he was grasping lightly at his neck. With a content sigh, Ciel’s eyes– lidded and mismatching– gazed into those of his parents. Rachel was shaking, tears in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. Vincent warmed both of her hands in his, holding tight to them as if he could squeeze the fear out of her himself. 

“What have you done with my son?” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks at the hollow expression he regarded her with. She only wished for him to emote in some way, but the wide, unnaturally gleeful grin that spread across his face hadn’t been what she had in mind.

 _“Relax,”_ the voice inside Ciel’s body crooned, pawing the air. “I’m leaving soon. I just wanted to know what it was like to be so breakable. He’s so cute,” Ciel’s fingers wrapped tight around his throat, “I just want to _squeeze_ him!”

“Don’t!” the Phantomhives screamed, lunging out of their chairs, but the demon was too fast. He spinned right out of their grip in a flourish of swift acrobatics that Ciel himself could never perform. Deep, rolling laughter rang out from all directions. Thousands of voices joined in unison to shower the parents of a doomed little boy in fright and hopelessness. It surrounded them. It echoed off the walls. It drowned out Rachel’s involuntary shout of, “who are you?” into the air. 

The cackling slowly died down. “I’m the raven outside your window.”

Vincent bared his teeth, looking right into the Devil’s eyes and sneering. “Listen to me. If you don’t–”

“Oh, Vincent!” A new voice joined the hum of sound. Ciel’s knees hit the floor. His chest heaved around broken, gasping breaths. His eyes squeezed shut, his brows turned up, and his mouth fell open. “Oh, right there, don’t stop!” Ciel shuddered, barely holding himself together. Every keen sank into a thoroughly satisfied whine, voice rising falling with invisible tides coming in and going out, all tinted with itching familiarity. It was a woman’s voice, and not just any woman. 

Another voice answered her cries, booming and disembodied, equally recognizable. 

“Anything for you, Angelina,” Lord Phantomhive’s voice purred from the rafters, “Anything at all.”

Rachel listened to the woman moaning and mewling, Angelina’s facial expressions translated onto her ten year old son’s face, recognizing the voice as her sister’s. While Ciel’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, her own husband’s voice soothed the shockwaves coursing through him. Vincent was silent by his own right, listening to an imposturous demon loose the deepest, darkest moment of his life thus far. The night before his wedding day, he’d said goodbye to his days as a bachelor in the company of Angelina Dallas, his wife’s only sister and loving aunt of their son. They wanted to look away, shield their eyes from the vulgarity of a child producing such lewd sounds and faces. But they were frozen in place, kneeling on the carpet and forced to watch as the demon smirked in triumph. 

_“Memento Mori,”_ its voice advised from the ceiling. “It would do you well never to threaten me, Vincent Phantomhive,” Ciel let out a whine, stimulation edging on painful, “Who knows what might happen.” Jerked upward by an invisible force, Ciel abruptly stood with his head lolling heavily from side to side. He could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Daddy…” Vincent swallowed at the sound of Ciel’s voice, true to itself and clear as day. The noise around them fell away until the office was eerily silent. Ciel stood perfectly still, looking down at his father shedding mortified tears on his behalf. Ciel’s right eye pulsated, emitting a faint purple glow as his blood boiled just below the surface, even pushing out and falling from his eye in tears. “Daddy, my face hurts,” he sobbed, face breaking, “my body hurts. Daddy, help me, please. I just want to go home!” 

“Don’t worry,” Vincent tried to console him with empty words, “I’ll save you from this. This will all be just another bad dream.” Rachel was going into convulsions. She shivered through her hysterics while Vincent attempted to reason with a force he couldn’t even see, a force that was capable of _being_ him. “It’s not going to hurt you anymore, right? Right?” 

“Please, don’t hurt him, I’m begging you!”

 _“Oh, but I’d never!”_ Rachel whirled around, the voice sounding so close yet no one was there to claim it. _“You see, he’s far too sweet to waste,”_ it reasoned, _“he’s not even fully ripened.”_

With a startling pop, Ciel’s neck cracked as he looked straight up at the ceiling. He tensed for a long second. A gravely gurgle bellowed from deep within Ciel’s body, like Satan himself was trying to speak to them from the bowels of hell. 

_“I am beautiful,”_ it growled, _“I am terrifying,”_ black bile bubbled up in Ciel’s throat, spilling out from his lips, _“and no one can control me.”_

Ciel collapsed in a heap at their feet, motionless and silent. The Bishop of Marlborough was dead. Rachel couldn’t breathe. Vincent wracked his brain for solutions, but none came to mind. It was out of his hands. Someone else would have to take the lead.


	2. Arrival

The toes of his shoes were scuffed. He would earn yet another black mark for this. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the wear in the leather, rough and three shades lighter than was allowed. The uniform was absolute, no sloppiness was tolerated and no exceptions were made. 

He stood quietly outside the door of an office nestled in the Northern Ward of a small jesuit in the country where boys trained to become priests, teachers, or missionaries. Any profession they chose was imbued with the word of God, they just had to find it. The Lord speaks through knowledge and kindness. The open walkways bustled with lively chit chat and goings on, all the students actively enjoying the sun while it still shined. But he remained inside, waiting for the Headmaster’s return. 

Though all the students assimilated into the same lifestyle, wore the same uniforms, and aspired towards the same goals, one thing had always been clear. Despite his presence among them in the last four years, everyone knew that the boy who lived at the end of Lennon Hall was very different than the rest of them. He ignored them, they ignored him, and everyone appeared to accept it. He had always been a silently brilliant young man. He participated when asked to, but no one had managed to learn a single thing about him in all these years. No one knew why he never spoke or why he lived alone at the end of an empty dormitory closed off to the rest of the boys. Occasionally, someone would flash a friendly smile and he would see it, but he wouldn’t smile back. He just stared. 

He stood and waited for the Headmaster’s return. 

“Look!” A small group of upperclassmen wandered into the Northern Ward on their way to the outdoor commons. “It’s Phantomhive,” one of them whispered, “there he is.” They all froze in their places, watching Ciel from around the corner. He was a deer standing in a clearing, one sudden noise would spook him and he’d disappear.

“Like clockwork,” one of them mused, “I wonder what he’ll do when the Headmaster returns.” 

Three of them cast a wary glance in Ciel’s direction. He stood about three paces from the door with his head down low. Every day at tea time, Ciel would find his way to this door and wait. He would stand there until dinner at six, then he’d disappear into that room at the end of Lennon Hall. The Headmaster was away on official business and hadn’t told the students when he’d return. Nearing a month later, Ciel still stood in the Northern Ward every day until he returned. 

“What if he’s a _ghost?_ ”

“Go touch him and find out,” one of them snickered, “if your hand passes through him, you’ll have your answer.”

“Then he’ll _eat me!_ You do it!”

The boys, untucked and happy it’s finally summer, stood off to the side to quietly gossip about a student four years their junior. One of them, having a sufficient amount of decency, chided their behavior. 

“Honestly,” he sighed, “he’s just a kid, he couldn’t be that bad. So what if he’s a bit quiet?” His friends rolled their eyes, too deep in their assumptions to lift them in the name of rationality. The rogue, a freckle-faced boy with green eyes and a mischievous smile, shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heels, headed right for where Ciel stared at his shoes. Suddenly, his friends weren’t so quiet. They hissed their protests under their breaths, waving for him to return and leave Ciel be. But he was already bending at the waist to meet Ciel’s eye.

“Good evening,” he greeted, “I’m Patrick.” The group of boys watching held their breaths. Ciel seemed to stop breathing as well, hoping that if he was perfectly still, the stranger would go away. “You’re Phantomhive, right?” Patrick pressed. The warm smile on his face faltered. Ciel lifted his heavy head slowly, eyes rolling up from the floor to meet his gaze. They were a little too wide for comfort; bottomless, lonely, maybe a little scared. Patrick gave him a moment to speak, when he didn’t he asked, “you can hear me, right?” To the group’s surprise, Ciel managed a small nod of understanding. When they gasped, those eyes darted quickly from Patrick to them. The crowd dispersed, scattering in three different directions and abandoning their companion. 

“Don’t worry about them, they’re all idiots.” 

Ciel looked into Patrick’s eyes and found no foul play. It had been three hundred and forty seven days, three hours, and twenty two minutes since the last student had shown him kindness. He knew this, down to the second. A faint, almost indiscernible static buzzed in his skull.

“I’m studying to spread the word of God in France. What are you studying?” Patrick chatted patiently, leveling with Ciel as best as he could, though he was a full head and shoulders taller than him. The static progressed to audible white noise collecting and building up. Ciel drew a ragged breath. Patrick frowned, “Is everything alright?” Ciel’s eyes rapidly scanned the room. “Ciel?” His hands flew up to press over his ears. He was hyperventilating. Disconcerted by Ciel’s sudden change of attitude, Patrick took hold of his shoulder in attempt to calm him. 

“Don’t touch me!” Ciel screamed, shaking off Patrick’s comforting hand. Palatable fear soaked his voice and poured from his eyes. “You have to get out of here! Run! Run away!” 

“Are you out of your mind?” He stood up straight, brows furrowed. “Haven’t your parents taught you how to behave? Haven’t they–”

The low gurgling escalated to a velvety hum, growling from the very walls around them. It was hushed, but those close by could certainly hear it. Patrick lifted his sharpened eyes to confusedly peer down hallways for the source of the noise. Sweeping from down the hall to the outdoor walkway, his attention stopped at a single raven perched on a stone ledge just outside the window, an odd sight for this day in summer. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt it stared back at him. Then the bird turned its head, flashing a crimson glint when the light hit its eyes. 

_“He touched you.”_

“It was an accident…” Ciel watched as Patrick observed the raven. He saw rarity, strangeness. He knew nothing of the fear that raven inspired. Ciel trembled at the sight of it. He swallowed thickly, pressing his thoughts deep into his subconscious to prepare for unbearable pain. 

 

_“He touched you without my permission. I cannot allow it, Ciel.”_

 

“Please,” Ciel begged quietly to the voice echoing inside his head, “he didn’t know. None of them ever knew any better. Maybe, if we told them, they would–”

 

_“He must pay the price.”_

 

“No!” he sobbed, shaking like a leaf. Patrick whirled around at the sound of his voice, softening when he saw how red and swollen Ciel’s face became as he wept. Patrick advanced, on his way to apologize for being so curt with him, but Ciel shrieked. “Don’t come any closer!” 

“I– I’m sorry,” Patrick apologized automatically, “I had no idea you were so sensitive.” He took another step. “Did I hurt you?”

The raven took flight, alighting in the window of the Northern Ward, watching the two students as they argued. With every step closer to him, Ciel’s stomach twisted and turned until his face transitioned from red and splotchy to green and clammy. Patrick asked him if he was okay, but Ciel refused his assistance. He backed away until he was flush against the Headmaster’s office door with no room for escape. 

“Let me take a look at you,” Patrick whispered, kneeling down to assess Ciel’s sudden motion sickness. The world spun in a blurry tango; Ciel thought he would pass out. Gentle hands guided Ciel to look at him, and he managed to see into Patrick’s general direction, but his vision had gone soupy and unfocused. He wretched forward, startling Patrick, but he kept it down with a ragged sigh. 

“Patrick,” he whispered, swallowing the urge to vomit, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” he mused, “it seems like a sudden bout of vertigo. Do you feel dizzy?”

Over his shoulder, Ciel saw the bird hop closer on taloned toe. 

“Don’t hate me,” he begged, unable to take his eyes off the raven edging closer and closer. “I never wanted this to happen, you have to believe me.” 

“Of course not!” a bright smile showed Patrick’s teeth. “You’re ill, it isn’t your fault.”

Bringing a shaky hand up from his side, Ciel drew the sign of the cross in the center of Patrick’s forehead. The pressure he used to sink God’s protection into his skin rubbed a red patch between Patrick’s eyes. “Bless you.” 

Patrick was delighted, endeared to the ends of the Earth by Ciel’s favor. It was safe to say that no one had ever captured the fondness of this particular classmate, and it wasn’t lost on him. He said nothing, nodding his head and accepting the blessings as a sign of good faith and future companionship. Patrick smiled brightly, face freezing for a moment at the sound of a raven cooing softly right behind him. He swiftly turned around, locking eyes with it where it stood a step away from the soles of his shoes. It held a prominent sense of intelligence like it really was looking at him, seeing him, and recognizing him as _Patrick_. It crowed again, spreading it’s wings and taking off, landing on Ciel’s right shoulder. 

“May God have mercy on your soul,” Ciel prayed grimly. Patrick’s smile faded away.

That bird glared right into his brain, projecting an ineffable rage right into his train of thought. It was still for a moment and the hall was quiet. It’s sleek black feathers ruffled up– making it double in size– then it took off, shooting forward and burying its beak into Patrick’s right eye.

Ciel watched as a haze of black claws and vengeful squawking mixed in with the pained cries of a student being attacked by a mysterious black bird. It swiftly dodged Patrick’s swatting hands, desperate to be free of the raven as it pecked out his eyes and tore shreds from his brain out of their sockets. When it had swallowed it’s last bite from Patrick’s skull, it vanished from sight with a plume of black smoke. Ciel stood off to the side, silent and powerless. Patrick sobbed weakly on the floor, unable to watch his own blood pool around him. His screaming attracted the attention of dozens of eyes, student and staff alike. It wasn’t long before the crowds gathered. 

A history professor rushed to his side, kneeling down near Patrick’s head. “What happened?” he barked, hands hovering over the pecked remains of Patrick’s eyes. He looked up to Ciel. “Is he dead?”

“No.” Ciel watched Patrick’s chest rise and fall with short, shallow breaths. Inhalations steadily grew further and further apart. When he finally drew his last breath, a single tear– stained red with blood– slipped down his cheek. “Now, he’s dead.”

A hush befell the crowd. The braver students murmured things like _you’ve done it now,_ and _he’ll be expelled for sure, maybe even hanged!_

“There’s nothing to see here!” Shouted one of the professors running to the scene. The nurse at his side carried a small armful of medical supplies, but it was too late. “Everyone to their dormitories right now!” Reluctantly ripping their eyes from the grisly and untimely death of a popular and successful friend, the students made their way to their respective rooms. 

Ciel stood perfectly still, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle to look down into the empty, bleeding sockets where Patrick’s eyes once viewed the world and all of its cruel beauty. They were almost perfectly round. His pale lips were relaxed and parted, giving him an awestruck expression in death. Ciel believed that he’d seen God in the hour of his death. He lifted Patrick’s pain and regrets and allowed his soul to ascend into Heaven where it belonged. Ciel saw nothing of the type for himself, only blood, chunks of brain matter, and the loss of someone who was only curious. The body count raised to six, two students and four staff members. 

“Phantomhive?” a literary professor called his name, attempting to gain his attentions, or at least get him to lift his head out of this painful angle it hung in. Ciel heard him, but chose not to react. The Headmaster has yet to return and the clock hadn’t struck six. When he didn’t move, the professor approached him, reaching out. He let out a surprised yelp when a small hand closed around his wrist, snatching it right out of the air. 

“Do not touch me,” Ciel snapped without even looking at him, “unless you want to end up like him.”

With the sun sinking and the cloud banks rolling in, a housemaid hummed a tone deaf tune as she rolled her cart down the hall. She was bound for Salisbury Hall where one of the boys was ill in one of his drawers. 

_Poor thing,_ she thought to herself, _they’re always so hard on the first years._

Salisbury was just at the end of the corridor. She’d marched with purpose down its length until she came upon the pass, the divergence between Salisbury Hall and Lennon Hall. Salisbury was lit, warm, and the voices of the students bounced off the walls with the liveliness of summer. She peered down the hall and smiled behind her thick, oversized spectacles. But every time she was called down there, there was always that light breeze drafting in from behind her in Lennon Hall. 

Lennon was abandoned in 1884 for repairs and renovations. The plans were set, the budget was approved, but some mysterious circumstance left it untouched, to fall to disrepair in the cold and the dark. Breaths of wind from outside oozed in from the cracks in the crumbling mortar that barely held the walls in place. During storms, the floors would shake and turn. She couldn’t think of why they didn’t simply tear it down, or build a wall over its entrance so the drafts couldn’t get in. There was no logical reason. 

She gazed down into the darkness of Lennon Hall. The wind whistled quietly, running its fingers through her hair. She thought perhaps it was haunted by some poltergeist and tearing it down would invoke its wrath. She almost thought she could hear it calling her name, but she shook it off. She returned to her cart, and proceeded down to Salisbury where a mess waited to be cleaned up. 

“Mey Rin! You’re making it worse!”

“I’m sorry!”

Warbling to herself, Mey Rin helplessly stared at a pair of black pants she’d accidentally dropped in a tub of bleaching agent she was using to clean up the sick in the drawer. Three students watched her; a prefect named Dobson, a third year named Forbes, and a first year named Graham. While Dobson pressed a damp washcloth to Graham’s forehead in attempt to give him some relief, Forbes mourned the loss of a perfectly good pair of pants ruined by the hands of a young and befuddled maid. 

“Ugh, it’s fine,” he groaned, waving her off when she tried to apologize again, “it’s my fault.” He rolled his eyes the second his back turned to her and skulked back to his bed. He stretched out, making himself as comfortable as he could be given the circumstances, and Mey Rin diverted her eyes, unused to seeing another in such a state of undress. It was improper for her to even linger among the students after a task was completed, even if they were mostly the same age as her. 

“Well… you should be ashamed of yourselves!” she exclaimed, turning her nose up and throwing her fists down. Three pairs of eyes flicked over to her in protest, “making your classmate ill, what did you do to him?” she went on. 

“We didn’t do anything!” they protested together. 

“Then what happened?”

Forbes stole a glance over in Graham’s direction, taking in the way he looked like he could vomit again at a moment’s notice. “He saw…” he trailed off. Mey Rin waited with pouting lips and angled brows. “I mean… Everyone was there, right? So–”

“I saw that boy _kill_ my friend,” Graham suddenly spoke up for himself. His chest heaved, gaining momentum for another hurl of bile and stolen tarts. “I saw his face and… He didn’t even flinch!”

“Oh nonsense.” Mey refused to believe it. “He would never do such a horrid thing! It was a bird. Perhaps it saw a beetle in his hair.”

“It attacked him because Phantomhive told it to,” Forbes added as a matter of fact, “just like he did with Sean…” The boys offered a silent prayer. 

Mey gave a little huff, optimistic in view of the Phantomhive boy’s character. Forbes barely held in a groan at her dimness, deciding that it wasn’t kindly to blame her for it. “Mey, you don’t find it odd that he’s been a student here for this long already? He’s younger than the first years, yet he outranks them by almost _five_.”

“So?” she protested stubbornly, “maybe he’s a prodigy?” 

Her mousey voice sounding out such an advanced word like _prodigy_ caught come suspicion and she noticed the heat in Forbes’ eyes right away. Her cheeks turned pink under the pressure. “Where did you hear that word?” he questioned the maid that spoke like a student. She quickly glanced in Dobson’s direction for guidance, catching the almost imperceptible shake of the head he used to warn her against telling their secret. Light reading to entertain the lesser was saintly, teaching them to understand the words as they were writ was a sin. She avoided the question. 

“Ciel Phantomhive is a sweet young man,” she proclaimed without much to back her statement with, “He is thoughtful and kindhearted. I’m sure he was just as scared as you were, Graham.” 

“Sure he was.” Forbes rolled over, picking up a book from the nightstand beside him. He was finished with the conversation. Mey Rin turned over her left shoulder to Graham and Dobson. 

“Where is his room?” she asked. No one answered. Dobson swallowed. “You heard me, where does he stay?” No reply. “With Peter and Prospero?” she guessed amongst the other students in Salisbury, “maybe the Watson twins?”

Forbes barely lifted his eyes from his book. “He doesn’t live in Salisbury.”

Mey Rin furrowed her brows. “Of course he does. With his marks, they wouldn’t put him in Dunhams.” There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. Graham was the next to speak, keeping his words quiet and confidential. 

“He lives over there,” he admitted, looking out the door and into the hall, “in Lennon.”

A shiver wracked up Mey Rin’s spine. Just imagining such a young boy living alone in that derelict deathtrap made a part of her deeply worried for him. She suddenly felt as though not going to see him, just to put her eyes on him and know that he was alright– especially after a day like today– would be irresponsible, a mistake. 

Without another word, she tugged her cart out of the room, chugging down the corridor and out of Salisbury Hall without so much as a goodbye. She stared dead ahead, barely making out a small, faint light at the end of Lennon Hall. But something made her stop. She thought for a moment, peering into the darkness of the abandoned dormitory, then took off down the hall in a different direction.

In the dark, the flashing of moments from the day seemed more colorful, more vivid. He could see it unfolding before him as if it were happening again right here. The raven had gouged out Patrick’s eyes and went straight for his brain, pulling out strips of grey matter– still fresh and pink with blood and activity– and swallowed them whole just to make a point. It wanted to paint a clear picture for anyone else that dared to cross it, illustrating the consequences for all to see.

“He wanted to go to France…” Ciel whispered to the room around him, finally cried out. He was curled up in a ball atop his bed sheets, eyes red and swollen with mourning. A waft of cold air made him shiver. He could feel the weight of its stare on him. It was near, watching him, lurking in the shadows. 

_“If he wanted it so badly,”_ three distinct voices reasoned, _“he wouldn’t have touched you.”_

“He didn’t know!” Ciel contested through a sore throat. “What do you want from me? Why can’t you just leave me alone!” He shouted into the air, words lingering over his head and left unreceived. The monster simply didn’t hear words like that. It never had. _No_ and all of its affiliates were not a part of its vocabulary. Ciel rolled over onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. “I just want to go home…”

 _“Oh Ciel,”_ the voices emanated from different corners of the room. They almost sounded sympathetic, but Ciel knew better than that. They tried to confuse him, but he noticed a thick black shadow sweep over the room to stand before the door. Ciel’s heart started to race. 

_“No one will ever care for you like I do. My ferocity is unmatched. My loyalty is unquestionable.”_

From all angles, the voices divided and closed in with every word spoken until Ciel was surrounded with the sound of the demon’s voice. 

_“Nunc scio quid sit amor.”_

 

The dim light of the bedroom extinguished, impenetrable blackness absorbing all space. Where Ciel lied in bed, he abruptly lost feeling in his left leg, then his right. Like wide palms with a vice grip, his ankles were seized and parted, forcing out a startled gasp from Ciel as he was pulled down flat against the duvet by an invisible force. With his legs incapacitated, the hem of his nightshirt slowly crept up his thighs on its own. 

_“Semper fidelis.”_

Ciel squirmed and kicked his legs, whimpering when nothing happened. As punishment and precaution, next his left and right wrists were taken and glued to either side of his head. “No no, please,” Ciel futilely protested. It seemed that every oxygen molecule in the room growled low it their throats. “What’s gotten into you? You’re not usually this demand–” Silencing him, an unseen hand forced his face to look up towards the ceiling, thumb and forefinger squeezing until his jaw dropped and his mouth opened. Ciel stared into the dark, surprised and mountingly frightened. He was frozen. The room was silent for a while. 

_“There is no pain if you stop denying it. But when you give up and let me in,”_ out of the darkness, two red eyes with narrow, slitted pupils sparkled at the foot of the bed, ready to pounce, _“you may never decide to return from oblivion.”_

“Why?” Ciel choked on his tongue where it felt thick in his mouth, “why me?”

 _“Oh,”_ it purred, “ _lot’s of reasons.”_

When a draft suddenly sighed and his nightshirt swiftly slipped up his frame to collect under his armpits, Ciel shivered in practically nothing but thin shorts and ample terror. No amount of routine or repeat offenses would make him forget this unusual behavior. Even for the pinnacle of Evil, the regularity of this toying with him wasn’t customary. It’s never toed the line like this before. But before Ciel could inquire as to what was wrong, visible talons trailed up along his abdomen, barely touching sharp points to his skin. 

“You see, Ciel,” this time, only one voice spoke to him, and Ciel could trace it back to the eyes watching his every move. In a state of rapt confusion, he relaxed and his lungs inflated uniformly. When the eyes drifted closer and the talons traces organic patterns along his collarbones, Ciel wasn’t so scared. He was listening. 

“I can give you things you’ve never dreamed of,” the demon promised in a sandy pur, “I can share experiences you’ll never forget. I know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself.” 

Ciel yelped as a deft, clawed finger dipped between his lips, unseen pressure preventing him from moving a muscle. He gazed up into the ceiling with wide eyes, feeling the talon scrape along his taste buds as the finger withdrew. When it returned, the talon was gone, a perfectly manicured fingernail in its place. Then all the tension in Ciel’s body bled free, releasing in a soft sigh. 

“How does it taste?” 

Heavy lashes sank over his eyes; the hold on his jaw disappeared and he was allowed to close his lips around the finger, sucking free the taste of rich dark chocolate, salted caramel, cayenne pepper. Flavors Ciel had no names for danced and bloomed across his palette. The scent of the air thickened with cinnamon, cloves, and other exotic herbs and spices. 

“Ciel, my divine,” the demon all but whispered directly into his ear, “I don’t want to hurt you. You must let go.” Ciel hummed, cataloging all the new and exciting sensations for later. Some of them had to exist in this world, he would have to travel far and wide to find them. 

Half a dozen phantom palms caressed his bare skin in an almost loving manner, caring for him lazily in wide sweeps or pointed campaigns on his ribs or outer thighs. Ciel could feel them tremble with restraint, dutifully avoiding places like his nipples and inner thighs. The monster never touched him there, but it wanted to badly. A silvery spade tongue barely glanced along Ciel’s throat and he rolled his head to the side in silent consent. Smooth pearly fangs tantalized the supple skin; the creature teased itself, played with its food, left it just out of reach enough to salivate more. 

“I’ll do anything for you, Ciel,” the monster breathed and the boy shuddered. He couldn’t deny, that single voice beseeching him reached him in places he didn’t know he had. “Just say the word. I’ll give you anything your heart desires… just let me in… Let me… Let me….” 

Making disappointed mews with every withdrawal– eyes closed and tongue concentrated– Ciel was quickly forgetting his circumstances. For a hair-splitting moment, he lost himself. 

_“Amantes sunt amentes.”_

In that very second, the finger in his mouth transfigured into a slimy, slithering worm that swiftly wiggled down his throat. Ciel’s eyes blew wide open. He was forced to swallow it, but immediately zoomed up to a sitting position, coughing up thick black tar that coated his face and hands. With urgency, he tried to clear his throat of that taste, absolutely foul and rancid, burning up the back of his throat. But the pressure in his belly only grew as the worm wriggled and multiplied within him. Scores of them poured into his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t see any more. 

And then, he was quite alright. 

With a bored sigh, Ciel stood from his bed, nightshirt falling back into place. “How exhausting,” he mused, “I’m sorry, Ciel, this hurts me as much as it hurts you.” Sharpened senses detected the rusty squeaking of four wheels along the floor, closing in on the room at the end of Lennon Hall. Two eyes, one a deep cobalt blue and the other a throbbing, infected purple, locked onto the door. Red-rubbed lips turned up at the corners; someone knocked on the door. 

“Ciel?” a shrill voice called out from the other side of the door, “Ciel Phantomhive? It’s me, Mey Rin. I’m the maid! Are you in?” A pleased simper crossed Ciel’s expression. His right eye bled a streak of red down his cheek as he listened to Mey Rin speak to him through the door. “I’ve brought you an eclair!” she exclaimed, “I know how you like them. You’re ever so quiet, but I see how happy you are for sweetmeats. May I come in?”

Immediately following her words, the door swung open and surprised her. She stood beside her cart, the aforementioned eclair sitting perfectly centered on a white dish she’d swiped from the kitchen. When she didn’t see Ciel right away, she was confused. When he stepped out of the darkness and into the doorway, she flashed him a friendly smile. It sank down into a frown; Ciel lifted his eyes to her and they didn’t match. 

“Mey Rin,” he called to her with an evenness of tone that he’d never used before, “how lovely of you to dote upon me.” Mey Rin squinted, peering through her spectacles as Ciel retreated into the darkness. “Do come in.” 

She took a trusting step forward, holding the dish in one hand and her skirts in the other. She’d abandoned the cart in the hall. As soon as she was clear of the door, it slammed shut behind her. She squeaked in surprise, tossing the dish high into the air. She hid her face and waited for the inevitable crash. It was quiet for a moment, the shattering never came. 

“Tell me,” a different voice implored. It sounded as if Ciel had aged ten years, gaining a silvery tongue and a bassline that thrummed from deep in his chest. Mey Rin opened her eyes, but there was no light at all to see with. “Do you love me?” the voice asked, “like a brother, perhaps? Or the son you’ll never have?”

In the corner of the room, two brightly shining gems shed a brilliant crimson light. For a moment Mey Rin couldn’t tell what they were, but the more she regarded them the more they regarded her. Then she noticed that they were eyes observing her every move, unblinking and unwavering. But nothing of God had red eyes that glowed like fire; she subconsciously clung to the rosary she kept in her pocket for guidance and protection. 

“You are safe,” the voice reassured her, “I mean you no harm. Any friend of Ciel’s is a friend of mine. How kind of you it was to think of him. We thank you, Mey Rin.” 

With a few deep breaths, her hold on the rosary loosened, her fingers unraveled from between the beads. “Who are you…?” she asked hesitantly. The eyes floated closer though she could hear no footsteps. 

“I have many names,” the voice replied, soon those eyes were staring down at her from a pace away, floating over her head and making her crane her neck to view them. “But you may call me… _Sebastian.”_

Sebastian. The name rang and echoed, bouncing off the walls and soaking into the stonework like a curse. Mey Rin scanned the room for the source of dozens of other disembodied voices whispering his name, but found nothing. Surprisingly, she remained calm. 

“Sebastian?” she repeated meekly, a warm, lively blush pooling in the apples of her cheeks. Her heart started to thump wildly in her chest as she fought the urge to reach out and touch. Those eyes had to be attached to something. 

“Very good,” he praised in a single soft voice. Hearing him and only him made her appreciate the intimacy of conversation in a way that she hadn’t truly understood before. A small smile graced her face. “Now, my turtle dove, I must ask you for a favor.”

“Anything,” she replied easily, “anything at all.”

“Bring me something… _that bleeds.”_ Sebastian purred. Mey Rin didn’t quite understand, but her eagerness to please him held her in her place awaiting explanation. “I hunger, Mey Rin. This fluttering heart does tempt me so.”

She breathed out, taking a step closer to the sound of his voice. “You must be starving…” she empathized. She could sense him in the air around her, like an enormous feral beast that was injured and whining, needing her help. 

“Finally… someone who understands,” Sebastian played upon her kindness, “Be quick. This boy’s fate depends on it.” 

The heavy door swung open, the knob crashing into the wall with such force that the plaster cracked. The room flooded with light, and Mey Rin found herself staring at Ciel. He stood in roughly the same place those floating eyes had been, body unaltered save for that painful looking, purple eye. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, but she couldn’t find Sebastian. 

“What are you waiting for?” Ciel asked her, face as neutral as ever. Then his expression morphed into a smug smirk and his voice wasn’t his. 

“Go,” Sebastian commanded from within the confines of a little boy’s skin. Mey Rin swiftly turned on her heel, all but running down Lennon Hall to complete her task. She’d forgotten the cart.

Her cheeks were flushed sweet and rosy. Her lips parted into a bright smile, showing her teeth and happiness. She walked blissfully through the school, thinking on that lovely voice, how sweet it had been to her. She could never betray something so otherworldly. She adored it. She loved it. 

She dragged the corpse of a guard dog down the center corridor, leaving behind a trail of blood to mark her path. Thin fingers hooked around the dog’s collar while the other hand wielded the stone that caved its head in. She sang that name, rolling it around in her mouth just to savor the taste. When she approached the pass between Salisbury and Lennon, a fair number of students and staff had already been alerted. 

“Mey?”

“Oh no! Look at what she’s done to the dog!”

“Mey Rin’s gone mad!” 

“Mey!”

All she could see was Sebastian. All she could hear was Sebastian. He was hungry, he’d told her. He was starving. If she did what he asked, he would praise her. Perhaps he would _smile_ at her. She sighed and approached the door, dragging the dog behind her. 

The entire school congregated at the mouth of Lennon Hall. They all watched her disappear into the bedroom at the end. A handful of ordained professors and two prefects hurried to the door at the end of the hall. They followed the blood. It took three men to force the door to give, and inside they were met with a sight none of them had ever expected. 

A boy with a mop of dark hair knelt on his knees over the dog with his teeth sunk deep into its neck. Sounds of frustration melded with grunts of satisfaction as he feasted on the remaining blood of the dog, tearing at its flesh to loosen more of it. Mey Rin stood behind him with a glassy look in her eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” shouted Professor Mills of Theology and the Headmaster’s right hand. The boy didn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice. He chewed and swallowed a chunk of the dog’s flesh, then rolled his eyes upward to meet his. 

“A growing boy needs his strength,” he answered in a voice that didn’t match his body. A chorus of other incorporeal voices spoke with him in unison. Both prefects shivered. 

“Strength for what?” another priest dared to ask. The boy set his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

“Another of my kind has entered the realm of the Tested.” 

An ear-shattering scream made all in company rush to cover their ears, save for the boy that predicted the arrival of another unholy being entering the seminary. Everyone’s eyes flashed over to the light of the pass where they could see four clerics they’d never seen before run down the hall two by two. Each of them were dressed in purple robes, and all could barely control the limbs of a squirming and pitching boy of approximately the same age as Ciel himself, and how he kicked and screamed for freedom. 

“Someone get her to the Sisters,” someone shouted to the prefects who were rooted to the ground. Eventually, one of them– Dobson the prefect to Salisbury Hall– found it in him to firmly coerce Mey Rin into moving. Everyone else ran to assist the unknown priests trying to contain the boy who would not stop tossing and turning in their midst. It took sixteen hands to tie him to the bed frame in a room adjacent to the room Ciel resided in. Once he was tied out of mobility, they were dousing him in holy water. 

Coughing and sputtering after mouthfuls of holy water were forced down his throat, the boy shouted a ragged, “Help me!” that was met with another face full of water. In the candlelight, the remaining prefect stood off to the side, entranced by this new boy writhing in agony. Every splash of water stung like acid against his skin. The cold press of several crucifix burned white-hot like fire. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he openly sobbed, thoroughly soaked in water and riddled with pink cross-shaped burns. He had no time to catch his breath before his spine bowed up at the sound of two of the priests whispering incantations in Latin. He groaned low in the back of his throat, “please, you’re hurting me! Please stop!” 

“Quiet, demon!” growled the priest pouring water over his hairline. It dripped down the swoop of his nose and along the seam of his lips where he refused to swallow it. 

“I told you!” he sputtered through his teeth, “He’s not even here! It’s me! Jim! I swear!” 

“Silence!” 

It started as a quiet mumbling that grew into ardant chanting. 

“Deign, Oh Lord. To grant us thy powerful protection and keep us safe and sound. We beseech thee through Jesus Christ.”

“Amen.”

Thick, hot blood filled his mouth. His tongue burned with the fires of Hell. 

“Saint Michael, we beseech you. Bring us good fortune.”

“Amen.”

He was choking on it. Blood poured from his lips down onto porcelain skin, into buttermilk blond hair. His throat was closing up. 

“Luka Macken, we beseech you. Guide us to the light as you ascend into Heaven. May your soul be blessed and walk amongst the angels.”

“Amen.”

“Where’s Luka?” The boy was aspirating spurts of blood that filled his mouth to overflowing. Every protective charm the clergy laid out against the beast brought on more blood to add to the persistent and piercing burn in his tongue, but that name had significance that outranked pain. “What have you done to him?! What have you done to my brother?!”

The remaining prefect, Leonard of Dunhams Hall, stood off to the side. Rough shudders passed through him, seeming to come from deep in his bones as he watched the boy scream and writhe. He was coughing up blood and wailing for _Luka… Luka… Luka..._ Years of study to become a priest had taught him to assist the weak, to cleanse them of their sins, and that none of God’s children should suffer. Leonard of Dunhams Hall stepped forward, given strength from God himself, and pulled out the homemade handkerchief his mother had given him for his birthday. The clerics were too busy to notice him carefully dab away rivulets of blood dripping down the boy’s face. They didn’t hear him offer what he knew. 

“You… You disemboweled him with your own hands,” he admitted near silently into the boy’s ear. Leonard swallowed when he went stiff and attentive, listening hard. “You were eating his heart when they found you...”

“He’s…” the boy mouthed, barely any voice coming through. A picture frame containing a painting of the Blessed Virgin Mary fell from the wall with a dull clack. “He… He’s…” the boy gaped in disbelief. As the seconds ticked by, a faint rumbling grew in intensity. Soon the floor seemed to be vibrating. Then the walls were shaking. 

“Saint Michael–” a priest started another prayer but was shook off balance by violent tremors shivering out from deep underground. Philes of holy water exploded in their hands. Leonard had long since run off to vomit in the hallway when the blood in the boy’s mouth turned black. 

“You’re lying,” he growled. “He’s not dead.”

A brash, freshly inducted Father of the Church stepped forward, presenting a black bible. “The power of Christ compels–”

“No!” 

The boy’s protests and cries of anguish lamenting his brother were choked out by violent retching that made his bones pop and crack. The company of clerics were taken with the way he bent nearly in half, rising off the bed as he pitched and squirmed. One of them gave a shout when he noticed thick, black smoke oozing in from the cracks in the stonework. All in attendance grasped their crosses, silently wishing for God’s assistance. 

The boy’s wailing abruptly ended. He froze with his mouth as wide as his eyes, hips a foot off the bed. The drafts floating in through dilapidated walls swirled about the room, rapidly gaining speed and surrounding the boy tied to the bed. From dropped jaw, he belched forth a mouthful of blinding, golden light. 

The youngest priest was the first to see it, loosing a mortified scream from the depths of his being. Before long, not a single man in the room could bear the sight of such unnatural evil. They abandoned God’s work, scattering and fleeing to safety.

The unearthly glow dimmed and extinguished, and the boy was able to relax in an exhausted heap on the bed. Light lashes nearly fell over pale blue eyes, but the moment he felt that sleep would overtake him, a smooth silken voice whispered to him. 

_“Cito maturum, cito putridum,_ ” it observed cryptically. The boy didn’t bother to try to understand, he felt the words and their meanings as if the voice had spoken in English, but the voices never made sense to him in any tongue they chose to speak in. He simply wasn’t bright enough. 

“I didn’t kill him,” the boy professed to the ceiling. 

_“Of course not,”_ the voice agreed. 

“That bitch did,” he spat, “the sword swallower. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her with my fucking hands.”

 _“I’ll assist.”_

A blissful smile spread across his face. “You’re so good to me,” the boy praised through layers of black blood drying in his mouth and on his skin. It stained his teeth a stomach-turning brownish-green. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

 _“You must escape this place,”_ the voice commanded, taking on an authoritative edge. _“They’ll try to separate you from me. You cannot let this happen.”_ The adoration that made the boy smile faded away to the adamant concern that made his lips pull downward. 

“What do we do?” he begged for an guidance. A small scratching sound startled a frightened gasp from his chest. Whipping around to face the darkest corner of the room, he locked his sights on two glowing eyes, shining with incandescent golden light. Then the floor was suddenly alive and crawling with spiders. 

_“Let me handle it,”_ the voices commanded, and Alois would never dream of disobeying the implied order to keep still. He couldn’t look away from the army of arachnids steadily marching toward him if he tried. A sick feeling sank to the pit of his stomach at the sight, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even panic. He simply let it happen, trusting that the voices knew best. They wouldn’t forsake him. 

Dozens of spiders congregated into hundreds, swarming around the little bed in the middle of the room. Of all shapes, sizes, and walks of life, the spiders traversed the room, roved over the curves and planes of the bed frame, and crossed over onto Alois’ legs. Each new wave of spiders left silken cobwebs connecting him to the frame and bed linens. They climbed tirelessly until they covered every inch of his skin, and whatever was free of the spiders themselves was covered in layers of webbing so thick that his skin barely showed through. More still arrived as the spiders covered his hands, his ears, his eyes. Soon they started pouring into his mouth two at a time, sweeping webs over his lips and tongue. 

“I love you,” he whispered from the bottom of his heart, _“Claude.”_ He let out a quiet sigh, and never drew another breath.


	3. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super rough. anyone wanna beta this? it really needs some beta-ing *cries at all the minor issues*

Just as tendrils of misty white fog roused the drooping flowers from their sleep, the film glazed over Ciel’s eyes lifted, granting him sight. He blinked once, twice, and a third time, clearing the haze that filled his mind like a fever. He could move, first his fingers, then his toes until he could push up from the bed and touch the soles of his feet to the floor. It was dawn, and the screaming had finally stopped, or had moments felt like hours? 

He sighed, rubbed another sleepless night from his eyes, and stood on coltish legs to get dressed. Numb fingers slipped over tiny buttons, frustratedly digging their nails into the plastic until they were forced through their holes. When his lack of dexterity proved too troublesome, a bored grumble echoed from somewhere nearby. Ciel rolled his eyes. 

“Is there something wrong?” Ciel grumbled back, to which Sebastian did not reply. After a moment of annoyed quiet, Ciel continued to struggle with his buttons, and then with the buckles of his shoes. Fishing the end of the strap through the buckle strained his fingers and stressed his lack of fine motor skills this early in the morning. He felt frozen from hours in the chilling presence of a being that absorbed all warmth and light. Sebastian scoffed. 

“What. What’s the matter now?”

“ _You require my assistance,_ ” he deduced from the shadows, invisible to Ciel’s eye, _“you’ll callous your hands this way.”_

“Maybe I want to,” Ciel countered stubbornly, “everyone else can dress themselves, why can’t I?” 

Ciel was promptly lifted to a standing position by his armpits by several unseen hands. Buttons were fastened, buckles were clasped, and his collar was straightened. At the end of being coddled by a phantom governess of sorts, Ciel’s mouth fell open and his brow furrowed. A cocktail of chagrin and mortification churned in his belly, creating hollow rumbling that echoed much louder than it really was. Visibly trembling, Ciel took a step backward, startled by the click of his own heels. When he saw the gloomy darkness that inhabited his bedroom advance towards him he panicked and whirled around to bring the heavy door closed with a loud bang. From within, Sebastian growled. 

“Don’t follow me!” Ciel could feel the frost turn his breath to ice. He could hear Sebastian prowling like a caged animal behind the door, pawing at the floor, waiting for weakness to use as an opening. Ciel took a deep breath and pressed himself to the door, gritting his teeth to ignore the cold that seeped through the wood as Sebastian gathered his strength. “Just stay here for one day, okay?” Ciel tried to compromise, narrowly avoiding Sebastian’s wrath. Ciel inwardly believed him to be mildly claustrophobic. “Just this once,” he promised, “I just want to try. I’ve never had the chance to be myself in front of them. Just let me try.” 

With a quiet thud, the physical form Sebastian had conjured to tear down the door sat directly in front of it, angrily complying with Ciel’s order to stay put and wait for his return. He almost gave into curiosity, wanting badly to open the door just to see what sort of creature stood behind it. It was definitely big and purred like a lion, but Sebastian’s beasts were always cunning and nimble, never as gaudy and obvious as a lion. Ciel peeled away from the door. Amazement softened him when he saw that Sebastian would obey. It had actually worked. Every step Ciel took down the hallway prompted more pouty grumbling, but Sebastian would wait in Ciel’s room until he returned. 

He was free. 

Smoothing his hands down over the buttons on his jacket, Ciel started down the walkway towards the Dining Hall. He’d made it about ten paces from his door when a small noise, like furniture legs skidding across the floor, caught his attention. Before he knew it, he was gazing into another bedroom to the left of him. The door had pushed open with the wind, kicking along the floor until it stood wide open. Though the room was located on the sunnier side of the building, it was black as night within. 

It wasn’t wise, but Ciel had already taken the first step, drawn in by wonder. The memory of the night before was hazy and monochrome. Patching together event’s he thought might fit together, Ciel deduced that there may be some significance to this room that lead to Sebastian taking his own initiative. He could barely recall distant screaming that might’ve been an echo from the distant past. Before he could come to a conclusion, he was standing in the doorway, shivering against a gust of freezing wind. 

“May I come in?” Ciel asked politely, exercising perfect manners that he had to forgo in Sebastian’s presence. There was no reply, but the dim sun broke through the ominous darkness through a small window to the right of the room, shedding some light in this hollow feeling room. It lacked any sort of life at all, like no one was there but him. 

Ciel scanned the room, noticing puddles of water flecked with broken glass. The painting of the Virgin Mary that hung in all of the dormitories had fallen from the wall; the frame was dented in one of the bottom corners. A cross on a chain had been abandoned on the desk to the left of the door. Its silvery gleam caught his eye. With his brows folded together, the urge to touch it pulled at the edges of his mind. Come to think of it, he’d never actually held any religious artifacts upon his arrival to the seminary at all. 

Reaching out for it, Ciel waited for Sebastian’s protest and heard nothing. No echo from somewhere in the back of his mind, no hissing from his bedroom. Sebastian remained docile. 

The second the pads of his fingers made contact with the cross, a white hot pain shocked him right up his spine. The metal hissed and smoked, printing irritated burns into Ciel’s skin. He gasped and yanked his hand away, staggering backward and pushing injured fingertips into his mouth to sooth them to no avail. He whirled around to flee when his eyes caught something else out of the ordinary. 

A spider– no, three of them, six of them, twelve of them– marched uniformly towards the door, leaving the room to begin their day, rows of them, armies of them. He traced them back to the bed where they poured in volumes from under the sheets. Ciel was rooted to the ground, eyes roving over the surface of the bed. 

A thick white film covered a small bulge raised off the bed. Ciel had assumed that it was a pillow or a wrinkle in the duvet, but the closer he watched the more he could make out concerningly thin arms and legs tied down to the bed frame. Through the spiderwebs covering this starved body, Ciel could see that the spiders were crawling out of its mouth in tribes. He shuddered and looked away from eyes burst wide open, staring blankly, milky and blind. Ciel wandered closer, wondering if he’d known this student before. By the looks of the worn leather that held them fast, Ciel and this other person shared a commonality, only they didn’t seem to make it out alive. 

“Right so we’ve changed his name to…”

“Alois Trancy.” 

Ciel suddenly realized where he was when the voices of two priests chirped very close by. They were headed this way. He gaped at the door, wondering when it had closed behind him. There was no way he could escape without drawing their eyes. He looked back to the body, hearing that his new name was Alois. Alois appeared to be dead, had been for some time now. Spiders made their home in his mouth. He was cold, stiff; he wasn’t breathing. The priests were closing in. 

A small sound, a throaty gurgle, broke the tense silence. The cataracts had somehow lifted and bright blue eyes were staring right at him. Ciel immediately stopped hyperventilating, jaw dropping. Alois didn’t breathe. The last of the spiders exited his body without contest. He slowly, deliberately, dropped his gaze downward and then back up to the shock on Ciel’s face. Without any further calculation, Ciel dropped to his knees and scrambled under the bed. 

“Now, he’s ward of the seminary. His parents have died long ago.”

“Oh, like that other boy… Lord, what was his name?”

In walked two clerics. By the sound of their voices, Ciel could tell that it was Yates, the First Years’ Counsel, and Barney, the Second Years’ Counsel. They’ve come to welcome Alois to the school just as they’d welcomed Ciel himself nearly five years prior. Yates was an old man with rosey cheeks and a jolly disposition. Barney was much younger and much more thoughtful. Ciel had even caught him being rather flippant with Yates over a number of progressive subjects. He was a philosophical man with an open-mindedness that Ciel quietly admired. 

They entered the room side by side, engaged in friendly banter that quieted when they noticed that the newest student was still in bed. Yates smiled and cooed for him to awaken so he could be briefed and assimilated into the fold. When Alois didn’t stir at all, Barney noticed the spiders retreating back into their nooks and crannies. Ciel watched his shoes approach the bed, holding a hand over his nose and mouth to silence his torn breathing. 

“Oh no,” Barney solemnly turned over his shoulder back to Yates, who had taken a step forward to investigate Barney’s despondence. “He’s cold,” he explained, bent over to clear away the sheets of web the spiders had spun to cover the body. Neither priest noticed the boy, alive and well, hiding under the bed. 

“Oh well.” Yates chose not to dwell in the past. He knew of the nature of Alois’ coming. “Cleanse the body of trace evils,” he instructed, his feet turning towards the exit, “I’ll write to the Father.” 

“Alright,” Barney agreed. With a gentle hand, Barney brushed webs and spiders free from Alois’ skin and hair until he almost looked like he was sleeping when his eyes were pulled closed. A sad smile graced Barney’s face. “Heavenly Father, I present you with Alois Trancy. Welcome him into your arms and seat him among the angels–”

The prayer died in his throat as a pair of baby-soft hands shyly traced up his neck to cup his cheeks. His mind went blank. He was pulled forward and down, forced to plant a knee atop the bed as pouty lips pressed to his. Surprise shot up his spine and widened his eyes, but it melted away like chocolate on his tongue. Barney accepted Alois into his arms, letting a blurry haze cloud his judgement. When they separated, Alois was very much alive, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks. 

“Do you love me?” His voice lilted on the edge of tears and sobbing like he just couldn’t bare rejection, but Barney put up no resistance. He stared back, breathing slowly, blinking slowly, pupils blown so wide that the green of his eyes had turned black. 

“Yes,” he replied without question. 

Alois had him by the back of his neck. All the uncertainty bled out of him. 

“Do you want me?”

“Yes,” Barney answered a little too quickly, “yes, I do–”

“Would you die for me?” 

Soft innocence hardened into bored annoyance. Alois watched as Barney’s pupils swallowed his scelaras whole, turning everything black and hollow. The color drained from his face. Barney nodded his head, illusioned into giving his life away. 

“Good,” Alois rolled his eyes, shoving firmly against Barney’s chest until he stood a few paces away. Alois stood from the bed on elegant toe, clasping his hands together to stretch his spine. “You know what to do,” he instructed without even looking in Barney’s direction, “distract the others so I can escape.” 

To Ciel’s astonishment, Barney immediately left the room with purpose. He turned sharply on his toes and marched out of the Hall with no question at all. Ciel drug his attentions from the empty doorway to Alois’ ankles, standing beside the bed. Ciel could see Alois drop one of his hips, idly waiting for the coast to clear. When it was his turn to make his exit, he took his leave in wide, confident strides. Ciel thought himself to be forgotten, but seconds before Alois turned the corner, he stopped. Ciel held his breath for fifteen seconds, then Alois was gone.

* * *

It was tea time, four o’clock sharp. Ciel lined the toes of his shoes up with the tiles that decorated the floor of the Northern Ward. He waited quietly for the Headmaster’s office door to open as he had every day for the last few weeks without fail. He’d even been ill in the time that had passed, but he’d dragged his blankets across the school to wait, hoping that the Headmaster had finally returned. 

Today had been utterly perplexing for everyone Ciel had come in contact with. The students and staff have always detected a certain looming gloom that followed Ciel like a shadow, but it wasn’t there today. He acted the same as he always had, save for speaking up in class on three different occasions and stunning his peers with his voice and intellect. They’d always assumed him to be slow of study, given how quiet he always was. Some were pleasantly surprised. Some were suspicious for reasons they couldn’t quite articulate. 

He stood up a little straighter. The little crease between his brows smoothed out. For a fraction of a second, he fathomed walking away. Tenuous flutters of strength willed him to depart. The Headmaster would find Ciel when he returned. Perhaps, today, he would attend tea in the Dining Hall amongst the other students. He let out an uncertain sigh, finding nervousness unpleasant. He closed his eyes and took a small step away from the door, then another, until he was facing the direction of the Dining Hall. When he opened his eyes, three mean faces loomed over him. 

“Look.” Ciel recognized him, Johnson, a tall, gangly student from Dunhams. “It’s that one,” he spat His two friends curled their lips. One tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, and the other shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. All of that hastily gathered confidence blew away with the wind from the outdoor walkway. Ciel squared his shoulders and feet to hide the wariness that shivered out of him in waves. 

“Leave me alone,” he commanded rather unconvincingly. The ringleader never bothered to suppress an unimpressed puff of laughter. 

“Hear that?” Johnson questioned his posse. “It _talks._ ” He advanced and bent to put himself nose to nose with Ciel. Squeezing his teeth together, Ciel willed himself not to shrink away and _refused_ to call for Sebastian. He denied his size and weakness, meeting their glarings dead on and with equal intensity. 

“You’re going to Hell for what you did to Patrick.” 

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Johnson was taken aback. “Fess up,” he ordered, ignoring Ciel entirely.

“No. I didn’t–” 

Ciel was hoisted up into the air by his collar. Johnson growled, _“Fess up,_ ” one more time, giving Ciel a second chance to take the blame for Patrick’s death. 

“It wasn’t me–” 

Ciel’s shoulder blades met the wall with a slam that knocked the air from his lungs. Johnson had him by the throat, digging his fingers into his windpipe like he could force the words out of Ciel’s mouth. 

“How do you think getting your eyes plucked out feels?” He ground out through thick, crooked teeth, “would you like to find out?” Ciel kicked futilely for freedom. He gasped for enough air to fill his lungs, but the pressure was squeezing spiteful tears from his eyes. “Stop your sniveling,” Johnson barked, “you look like a little girl.”

With all the spite Ciel harbored for such a dimwitted student, he gathered his strength and spat directly into his eye. With a roar, Johnson leveled a fist to Ciel’s nose and buried a misaimed punch to the corner of his mouth, turning his lower lip into a split, bloody mess. Another blind hit made his nose bleed.

Ciel could hear it, nearly inaudible rumbling, like the calm before a storm. All the way in the room at the end of Lennon Hall, Sebastian lurked in the shadows, diligently obedient but growing angrier and angrier at his captivity. But he needed Ciel to lift his command. Disobeying the order to stay put would surely make Ciel unhappy with him, but Sebastian could smell the stink of strange hands on his boy. All Ciel needed to do was say his name. 

Johnson and his underlings laughed and spat terrible things about Ciel and his family. Ciel couldn’t win in a fight against three boys much bigger than himself alone. He struggled to say anything at all. When Johnson invited his friends to throw their fists in Patrick’s memory, heavy footsteps approached from behind them, stopping in the middle of all this chaos. 

Johnson slowly looked over his shoulder. 

An old man with silvery hair and a strong moustache stood silently disapproving of the unfair fight that had broken out in the middle of the Northern Ward. Eyes the color of water narrowed behind his spectacles. 

“Headmaster…” one of the underlings whispered.

With a wordless grumble, the Headmaster pursed his lips and raised a commanding finger to his left, pointing across the courtyard towards the church house. 

“Uh– But–”

“Headmaster, we were only trying to–”

“He was–”

Headmaster bared his teeth, scowling hard until Johnson loosened his grip on Ciel’s neck and he dropped to the floor with a hard thud. With Ciel breathing himself back to life, spitting out a mouthful of blood, Johnson and his friends turned swiftly on their heels, running to the mouth of the outdoor walkway to the church house to confess their sins. The Headmaster would know if they didn’t comply with their unspoken orders and they were already fearing the consequences. 

Ciel cleared his throat, roughly clearing his eyes and dabbing the blood that oozed from his nose and lip. He listened as the footsteps of those three students disappeared. The Northern Ward was quiet once more. The Headmaster approached, displaying none of the fear that the rest of the school took no pains to hide from him. He held out a gloved hand, all the warning and anger leaving his face. He smiled warmly, eyes creasing even more at the corners. 

When Ciel could confidently stand on his own two feet, He followed the Headmaster into his office after weeks and weeks of waiting outside. Ciel closed the door behind him, creating privacy within a simple and elegant office. Before the Headmaster could turn to make his way to his seat, Ciel stopped him, hurriedly throwing his arms around his waist like he just couldn’t bare to be without a friendly face for a second longer. The Headmaster returned his embrace with puffs of joyful, iconic laughter, affectionately patting Ciel’s hair. 

When they parted, the Headmaster could see that Ciel seemed lighter than usual, friendlier. There was no darkness that followed him everywhere he went. He gestured for Ciel to take a seat beside him on the official side of the desk. A small stool was hidden below just for him. Ciel removed his jacket and smoothed his hands down over his waistcoat. Bloodied lips parted and he smiled a dazzling smile. Not a single person in the seminary had ever witnessed it but the Headmaster, Ciel’s only friend.

“I’m glad you’ve come back, Tanaka,” Ciel announced, being one of very few students allowed to use the Headmaster’s name. He took a seat at his stool while Tanaka uncovered a secret stash of shortbread cookies he secretly spent a good portion of the school’s funds to acquire. Tea waited for the both of them on a small cart, and soon the both of them were sipping tea and savoring cookies again like Tanaka had never left, like there was nothing wrong with Ciel at all. 

“It’s been difficult without you,” Ciel admitted, “thank you for finding me when you did. I missed you. The others don’t like me much. I don’t care, but it is lonely with no one at all.” 

Tanaka’s smile fell. He handed Ciel a handkerchief he kept in his pocket to clean away the blood. The rip in his lip was small and negligible and his nose wasn’t broken. He would be okay. Tanaka couldn’t help but scan the room, unable to detect that looming, nebulous creature that had accompanied Ciel in his coming to the seminary all those years ago. He was never without it until today. 

“Oh,” Ciel noticed Tanaka’s confusion, “actually, he’s… I asked him to stay in the room and he _listened_ to me.” Tanaka’s eyes widened as he sipped his cup. Ciel’s focus softened. He shook his head. “I feel so dimwitted for not attempting this before. I never thought it would work. I thought he would surely appear earlier, but he didn’t...” Ciel paused, thinking hard. “He’s getting stronger, more ardent. I can’t say for sure why.”

Tanaka was quiet, silent actually. Ciel had adopted the same reticent disposition, but always opened up with Tanaka. There was something about his lack of speech that encouraged Ciel to fill the space. It was good for both of them. 

Suddenly, the office door swung open and rebounded off the wall. It was Leonard, the prefect from Dunhams. 

“Headmaster!” he shouted, “Pastor Barney has leapt from the roof!”

Ciel and Tanaka stood in a flash, hurrying out of the office to the outdoor walkway. Down below, the nurse and a handful of maids did their best to hide this grisly sight from the students, blocking exits into the courtyard and ushering away students who’d been there to witness. Barney was sprawled out in the grass, painting it red. His neck was snapped; his head was turned all the way around. Ciel gaped at his eerie smile from above. Tanaka watched Ciel. 

“Let me go, you fucking bastards! I’ll shove that fucking staff up your ass!” 

Everyone in the Northern Ward diverted their attentions to the obscenities pouring from the mouth of that boy. It was Alois. Two priests had him by the arms, dragging him from escape back to his room. He shook out of their hold and took off down the hall, slamming into Leonard and knocking them both to the ground. Somehow Leonard ended up on top of Alois. He grabbed him while the priests rushed to retake their hold on Alois’ arms. 

“Let me go,” Alois commanded with a snarl. 

“No,” Leonard tried to sound authoritative. Alois’ anger morphed into challenge. 

“No one ever says no to me.” The clerics responsible for Alois finally caught up and yanked him to standing. “Find me later, and I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.” Alois giggled at the shock on Leonard’s face and he stiffly stalked away in the direction of the church house. Alois looked over his shoulder, right at Ciel, and blew him a kiss. Then he and his handlers disappeared down the hall. 

Tanaka looked right at Ciel, awaiting explanation. 

“What? I–”

Tanaka wouldn’t be fooled. He simply turned on his heel and headed back into the office. Ciel followed, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. 

Settled into his chair, Tanaka waited patiently. Ciel knew something. A lie on Ciel’s face looked nervous and sickly with guilt. 

“I… Last night my…” he swallowed, “I think he was trying to protect me. He hasn’t taken over in quite some time, but last night it was like he was urgently trying to prevent me from seeing something. He kept telling me that no one would understand me like he did.” Tanaka nodded along with Ciel’s story, taking it all in. He’d certainly missed a lot. “The other boy,” Ciel recalled, “he was dead this morning. I went into his room. He was covered in webs and there were spiders crawling from his mouth. Then, suddenly, he was looking right at me.” He shivered at the memory. “He’s afflicted too. But he possesses such an influence over other people. Is it that _he himself_ is unholy?”

Tanaka shook his head, lost in thought. He waved it all away, disappearing behind the left corner of his desk to grab something. When he resurfaced, he held a square-shaped parcel with Ciel’s name on it. Ciel lit up, taking the package from Tanaka and immediately tearing off the wrapping. Inside was a picture frame, three photographs, and a letter. He went for the letter first, letting Tanaka examine the photographs as he read. Ciel’s smile sank. 

“Aunt Angelina is dead…” he reported in a small voice, “just last week. She took her own life…” Tanaka didn’t need to say anything, Ciel understood his condolence. “Mother wouldn’t say how. Father is distraught.” Tanaka suppressed a telling raise of the brows. Ciel didn’t notice. He moved onto the picture frame, containing a simple embroidery depicting a cluster of daisies and forget-me-nots. “Elizabeth has learned to embroider.” Tanaka seemed impressed, but Ciel viewed the piece with mild confusion. 

The photographs were simple portraits; one of Aunt Angelina, a strong woman with a good heart, the sister of his Mother, Rachel; one of his family, including himself and his Mother and Father taken on Christmas almost five years ago; and one of Elizabeth, a small girl with glowing eyes and yellow curls, his soon to be wife.

Tanaka held onto the one of Elizabeth, showing it to Ciel with a smug look in his eyes. A fiery blush blazed across his cheeks. “Oh, stop Don’t make that face.”

* * *

With his back pressed against the wall of a small alcove, Ciel struggled with the three buttons that held his jacket closed as privately as he could. He hissed when the plastic rubbed against his fingers, still burnt and stinging from this morning, but eventually he successfully forced all three buttons into their respective holes. With a deep breath in and out, He turned out of the alcove and headed for his room. 

Once, he’d been allowed to attend dinner in the Dining Hall with the rest of the school. He’d had his own table all to himself, mostly because the other students had already formed their groups and pairings and all of the first years sat at the same table along the wall. Every once in awhile, it would appear to him that someone was making their way to him and he would sit up expectantly, but they always diverted to other paths. Then one day, another lonely student gave him a chance. Little did they know that Sebastian had been starving for weeks, and that day’s prayers to Saint Michael had aggravated him to rage. They buried the boy under the willow, and Ciel was banished from the Dining Hall. 

His bedroom door was sealed up like the mouth of Garden Tomb. Cold air seeped out of the cracks between the wood and the stone, even when the world outside was warm and humid. Ciel thought to knock. Was it to announce his arrival to Sebastian, or to announce Sebastian’s presence to him? He swallowed and tapped his knuckles to the door twice. He didn’t know what to expect, the moment of silence that passed by scared him just as much as the warning growl that followed. 

“It’s me...” he whispered to the door. Just like that, the room fell quiet again. Ciel was still for a moment, then the unnatural force holding the door closed lifted. It gave, and with a light push, Ciel crept inside, shivering in the cold and hugging his arms around his waist. 

“Sebastian?” Ciel gasped, hands flying up to cover his mouth. 

In the middle of the room, a sleek black panther lied boredly on the floor. It’s eyes, a lustrous red, glowed and threw circles of crimson light onto the stone. It was unnaturally large, larger than any of the books Ciel had read could’ve prepared him for. 

“Sebastian, is that… is that _you?_ ” Ciel questioned. It raised its head in recognition. 

Ciel had only seen Sebastian in two forms; his raven, and the hands and feet of his original skin. Now, Sebastian occupied the guise of a mysterious black cat that stood to advance before Ciel took a cautious step backward, threatening to flee. The panther froze in a crouch, focused on Ciel like it was waiting to charge, watching the way he breathed faster and harder with each passing second. It straightened up, then backed away into the dark. When the glow of his eyes disappeared in a waft of black smoke, Ciel was left alone. He called the beast’s name but it did not appear. 

Ciel felt light headed, weakened. He staggered to his bed to lie down, kicking off his shoes as he went. He stared at a crack in the ceiling that looked like a pig as he calmed himself down. All day, Sebastian had wasted his energy in wait. All day he paced the room just waiting for someone to barge in or for Ciel to return. Now, he was weakened as well, likely on the edge of starvation again within the span of one day. Ciel worked to even his breathing and slow his heart rate. The more stable his body, the less likely Sebastian could take it. The smoke dissipated, revealing those cursed eyes. The moment Ciel saw them, he sat up and braced himself for whatever may come. But the creature that stepped into the light was not horrible. It wasn’t foul or ungodly. 

A large black house cat padded across the room, pausing in its approach every so often to gauge Ciel’s reaction. Ciel let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, brows furrowing in surprise. It leapt onto the bed, crossing the bed linens slowly. Ciel accepted it with caution. 

“Sebastian?” The cat spoke not, as Ciel had expected, but it gave a sort of understanding look. “I won’t lie,” he confessed, “I do prefer this over the previous option.”

Sebastian didn’t appear to be listening, his gaze locked on the split in Ciel’s lip, the blood drying under his nose, and most importantly on the welts swelling up into blisters on his fingers. Haltingly, like he was waiting for permission, Sebastian crept forward, glancing back and forth from Ciel’s eyes to his wounds. Soon, he was curled up in Ciel’s lap and nosing his hands to loosen them from their position. 

Ciel hesitantly held out a hand, easing it towards the cat in his lap. Unsure of how to proceed, his movements froze just shy of the cat’s face. Fortunately, it leaned forward to run its tongue over the blisters on Ciel’s fingers. Passing over each one, soon the swelling went down and the burns disappeared altogether. When he was finished, the cat rubbed its cheeks and ears into the palm of Ciel’s hand, beginning to purr happily. 

“Thanks,” Ciel nodded, inwardly wondering how a demon could heal pain. He’d always thought it to be their job to inflict the pain and watch their victims suffer. 

The cat stood from Ciel’s lap, planting its paws on his shoulders. Its eyes locked onto the blood starting to seep from the tear in Ciel’s lip. Ciel was perfectly still, alarmed by Sebastian’s sudden need to be close. A cold wet nose followed by a warm rough tongue, Sebastian licked Ciel’s wounds clean, whiskers tickling Ciel’s nose. 

“Wait, Sebastian you can’t I’m–” a pathetic sneeze stole his words. Ciel’s eyes watered and his nose turned pink. “You’re a cat. You can’t– not so close, I’m–” another mousey sneeze. Ciel’s lip was healed, but every bead of blood Sebastian swallowed only reminded him of his hunger. He went in to set Ciel’s nose right, but stopped when he noticed that his boy looked very ill all of the sudden. “I’m allergic to cats,” Ciel finally managed to get out. Sebastian’s unhappiness was blatantly obvious. A tongue of smoke swallowed him up, and the cat was gone. “I’m sorry,” Ciel apologized.

 _“They touched you,”_ was all Sebastian could say. 

That night, when the moon hung low in the sky and the stars were covered in a veil of fog, Ciel laid awake. The boy in the room beside him, Alois Trancy, was screaming again. There was something about it, something about his voice. He strained and wailed in unfathomable pain. Ciel had never experienced such thorough exorcism. Sebastian had never done anything with his body that would warrant immediate seeing to, and when he got close, he was always gone before the priests could even gather their things. But it was clear, Ciel and Alois were more or less the same. The more Ciel steeped in this fact the more dirty he felt. Sebastian was the only thing stopping him from being the one screaming for death in the night. His skin crawled, his throat closed, he started to sweat. Before long, he was up, manically tidying his room. Sebastian watched and said nothing, noting this and remembering it for later.


	4. Observation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is terrible. deplorable really. but my life is in shambles right now. please consider this. sorry for the wait but i cant promise itll be any better.

The storm roared overhead, extinguishing the sun and plunging the world below into absolute darkness. Only flashes of lightning illuminated the sky for short shocking seconds before the dark consumed the ground again. Sheets of rain poured from the Heavens. Winds blew sharp drops sideways, whipping the braver hearts so hard that the force left pink welts along their skin. 

A dark bedroom at the end of the seminary had left all windows wide open, allowing the torrents to flood the floor. Over the howling of a world coming to an end outside, fast, fluttering breaths wheezed louder and echoed through the hallways. Soaked knuckles wielded a wrung out and mangled night shirt, rubbing it into the stonework of the floor until each unit shined. Utilizing the rain, nearly half the room was desperately scrubbed clean, but the remaining half caused almost immobilizing anxiety to be clean. But determination drove him on. 

From Salisbury, Dobson was the first to realize that something was wrong. The boys had been told to dress and meet in the Dining Hall to wait out the storm as safely as possible, but no one had ventured into Lennon Hall to inform its occupants. The other dormitories were empty. All the students were accounted for except for those two, Ciel and Alois. He watched the mouth of the Hall for signs of life. Coming up behind him, the Professor of Theology approached to report a handful of stragglers smoking cigarettes in their room. 

“Professor Mills, has anyone gone into Lennon yet this morning?” Dobson asked, peering into the next dormitory. Professor Mills, a paunchy man with an ugly face, furrowed his brow. 

“I don’t believe so.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Dobson took off with purpose down the hall, but Mills caught him by the collar. “Oh, no you don’t,” he advised.

“What’s the matter? Someone has to tell them. It isn’t safe, _especially_ in Lennon.”

Mills passed his tongue over his bottom lip, gripping Dobson by the shoulder. “Those boys are a special case, Dobson. God will reward you for your diligence, but you must leave this to me.” Dobson was displeased. 

“Who is their prefect?” he questioned, “it was his responsibility to wake them up.” He sent another suspicious glance into the corridor, then drew his gaze back to the Professor who was deep in thought. 

“Dobson,” he changed the subject, “go seek out some assistance from the staff and return here. If you’d like, I’ll appoint you as prefect to Salisbury and Lennon, and you may tag along when we wake up the last two boys.” 

“Why not just add them to Salisbury?”

“Trust me,” Mills deadpanned, “you don’t want those two mixing with the others.” 

Wary of the tone Mills chose to use when he regarded two of his own students, Dobson took off down the hall and retrieved three more clerics as Mills had instructed. Together, four priests and one student marched out of the warmth and familiarity of Salisbury Hall, entering Lennon with caution. The group made it halfway down the hall and Dobson was the first to hear it. There was a rough scraping coming from the far center dormitory, Phantomhive’s room. 

“What is that?” Dobson impulsively raced forward, but Mills held him back. Holding a silencing finger to his lips, Mills urged him to stay quiet. Then the company closed in on the door to Ciel’s room, hesitantly pushing it open. 

A streak of lightning lit up the room, white light bouncing off the flesh of a small body halfway underneath the bed. Drenched muslin shorts pulled transparent. Ciel was practically naked and frantically running his hands over the floor. His blood mingled with the rain pouring in, staining the stones a washed out red. In the opposite corner of the room, his night shirt lied in a crumpled heap, soaked through and torn in half. 

Two of the clerics rushed forward, grabbing the boy by his ankles and pulling him out from under the bed. Ciel shrieked, eyes wild and bloodied mits swatting at their faces. 

“Let me go!”

“Ciel!”

“Ciel, stop!”

“No!” Ciel struggled out of their hold, spilling out of their grasp and tumbling to the ground. 

“He’s escaping!”

“Get him!”

Dobson suddenly realized where he was. Ciel was curled up into himself, shrieking unintelligibly. Mills and his counterparts circled him, chanting prayers to Saint Michael for protection. But it wasn’t the tempest crashing in the clouds that they were afraid of. Saint Michael the Archangel protected from Evil Incarnate. The dots connected in Dobson’s mind just as another body pushed past him. The raven that he’d been seeing, Ciel’s silence, his peculiar behavior, it was all connected. 

“Help me!” Ciel wailed into the stonework. “Help me! Please!” His voice was ragged like he’d been sobbing for hours. “Sebas–”

A gallon of water brought over from Lourdes poured coldly over Ciel’s entire body. Though it was lukewarm at best, it splashed against his flesh like boiling oil, generating a steam heat. It burned him like a grease fire, but he’d finally stopped screaming. Now, he lied there completely silent, emoting no pain nor displeasure. He showed nothing at all. Gone catatonic, he didn’t resist the Headmaster’s arms closing around him, haphazardly swaddling him in an itchy woolen blanket and carrying him out of the dormitory. One by one, the clerics followed suit, leaving Dobson alone in the room. 

“He is…” he realized out loud, “touched by Evil.” 

He wouldn’t dare to follow, though the professors expected him to see through his involvement, until a chill in the air caught the edges of his clothes and hair. The loneliness of this bedroom lifted and another presence made itself known. It started as a faint rumbling that rose to a warning growl. When Dobson caught sight of two glowing eyes narrowed right at him, he ran faster than his legs could carry him, headed for the churchouse. 

Mills charged ahead, throwing open the doors of the confessional. He claimed that the eyes of God would cleanse him, then Ciel would be able to explain his state of distress. Another professor excused this as merely a mental breakdown, perhaps because he was homesick, but he hadn’t been privy to Ciel’s preexisting condition. Still, he refused to help, and left to rejoin the other students in the Dining Hall, along with his other counterparts. Mills, the Headmaster, and Ciel remained, with Dobson coming around the corner as Mills took his place on his side of the confessional. 

The Headmaster carefully ushered Ciel into place. He sat him down on the floor beside the kneeler, but when he pulled away to close the door and give Ciel some privacy, Ciel’s hand zoomed from his side to grip the Headmaster’s wrist. His speed and urgency made Dobson gasp. It wasn’t customary to join a student in his confession, but the fear in Ciel’s eyes required exception. The Headmaster lifted Ciel out of the confessional and replaced him on his lap. The door was closed and Mills began the reconciliation. 

“Ciel Phantomhive,” Mills began. He paused to wait for Ciel to respond. Within the penitent side of the confessional, the Headmaster shed his title and responsibility, stilling the tremors that wracked Ciel’s spine with a steady hand. With slow and eerie movements, Ciel placed a hand over Tanaka’s heart, finding peace in its relaxed beating. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

“What’s happened, my child? What’s wrong?”

“I-I–” Tanaka could feel Ciel’s heart beating faster and faster. The walls were closing around him. “It’s like there are maggots under my skin,” Ciel barely managed to say, “God has abandoned me.” Tanaka held onto Ciel a little tighter. Looking down at him in the dim light of the booth, Tanaka searched for a cause in Ciel’s expressions. But Ciel couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact cause and effect that lead to his sudden state of abandon. He started and stopped several times, then settled on one vague storyline. “He’s agitated,” Ciel began, referring to the creature that followed him throughout the school, “in the past few days, he’s been so anxious to get inside of me. It’s like he’s losing control.” 

Mills’ throat tightened. “Who?” he asked dumbly, but he knew what Ciel would say. 

From outside the confessional, Dobson stood off to the side, listening as the storm mimicked the spin-tingling growl he’d witnessed first hand in Ciel’s room. He would believe anything now. What was happening to Ciel was real, evident danger. It was contagious and it was spreading fast. They hadn’t even spoken to the other occupant of Lennon Hall. Dobson suspected that he and Ciel were alike in this fashion. That’s why they were tucked away in a ward that the school wouldn’t mind losing. 

Big blue eyes streamed with tears as Ciel clung helplessly to Tanaka’s collar. “I feel so dirty. I’m filthy. I’m unworthy of God’s mercy. I want to be clean but he won’t let me. There’s nothing I can do, I’ve tried everything!”

Mills was quiet and thoughtful, listening to Ciel’s hopeless sobbing through the mesh that separated them. Tanaka coddled him as best he could, showing a side of himself that Mills nor his colleagues had ever seen before. The Headmaster was a stern and hard-hearted man, ruling his seminary school with a firm hand. He’d never taken such a liking to any one student like he had with Ciel. 

Mills unlatched the door to his side of the confessional and stepped out, drawing the Headmaster’s attention. He opened his door with a shoulder, looking up at Professor Mills over his spectacles. Ciel shivered at the light, letting out an inhuman whine in distress. He was beside himself. 

“I have an idea,” Professor Mills proposed. The Headmaster regarded him with a wary eye. Mills implored him, “please let me see this through. I believe it’ll do him some good.” With a set jaw, the Headmaster nodded, granting permission. Mills leaned further into the confessional in attempt to address Ciel directly. Ciel stared blankly across the room, cried out and falling asleep.  
“Ciel?” he called his attention. His eyes were wide and unfocused, but they rolled up to the Professor’s general direction. “At nine tonight, please wait outside of Dormitory Five for instruction.” After a momentary standstill, Ciel nodded. 

Dobson stood in the center aisle lost in thought. He didn’t recognize that a professor was headed right for him until Mills was shaking his shoulders with a purpose. He was calling his name, but Dobson just couldn’t return to his body. It took Professor Mills forcing their eyes to meet to finally get through to him. 

“Dobson. Child, are you listening?” Dobson nodded, his head spinning. Mills had a hand on his jaw, holding him still. “This is of the utmost importance,” Mills explained, “Go to the nunnery. Seek out Sister Finch. We need her assistance.” Dobson’s eyes drooped like he was going to pass out. “Immediately!” the Professor shouted, “now repeat it back to me.” 

“Nunnery… Sister Finch. It’s urgent.” 

Dobson waited for his wits to return to him, then hurried out of the church. Outside, the storm was relentless, reaching for him like it was trying to hold him back. Whatever Sister Finch could provide for the seminary, it must’ve been of the utmost importance.

* * *

When the clouds had wailed themselves to exhaustion and the demise of the storm calmed the countryside, the boys of the seminary could finally sleep. Every head hit their pillows. Every nose tucked safely under their covers. Every mind wandered to far off places and dreamed of fantastical things. The corridors were quiet, the prefects were bored in their nightly watch, but they would never say anything that would sacrifice their days beginning at noon. 

Salisbury, house of the seminary’s most promising pupils, lied dormant, waiting for the coming of the dawn. Dunhams, house of the admittedly lesser students, still hummed with life. Every third student was restless, poking around in other rooms for cigarettes and goings on. The faculty house, Webster, was equally awake, though they pretended not to be. And the final wing in the Dormitory Hall, Lennon, breathed with the winds. Like the mouth of an angler fish, it stood open and hollow, waiting for something to drift by. Dobson stood in the pass between Salisbury and Lennon, nodding off. Try as he might, he couldn’t fully doze on the job, not with the knowledge he had. Deep in the corridor, something was awake, and every so often Dobson could hear it screaming. 

“We command you!” cried Professor Mills, draped in black cassock and purple stole. “Speak your name!” 

Tied to the bed frame in a thin white nightshirt, Alois arched his back and purred like a kitten. Light lashes kissed the tops of his cheeks tinted pink with effort and liveliness, and when his eyes opened they sparkled like diamonds. Mills and his assistant Yates dared to relax, seeing that Alois appeared to be in his original state. When Alois’ tongue poked out of his mouth to pass dramatically over his lips, they saw the mark, the brand of Evil burned into his tastebuds. A mathematically perfect pentagram glowed with its own faint light right in the middle of his tongue. 

“I _could_ tell you my name,” Alois reasoned in a trio of voices that didn’t belong to him, “but if I do, you’ll never learn the name of the _other_ Evil you house, feed, and clothe.” Alois smirked. “You only get one.” Tugging at his restraints, Alois bated the two clerics trying to save him. “I could help you,” he offered, “we can _destroy_ it _together._ ” 

“You would betray your own kind,” Yates observed with spite. Alois raised a condescending brow.

“It’s a dog eat dog world,” he reasoned, slowing his words to be sure that Yates could understand. “I want this body,” he deadpanned, “I want this soul. The other is in my way.”

“What if we make the same deal with the other beast?” 

The taunting smile that turned up the corners of Alois’ mouth fell away. A snarl showed glints of pearly white teeth; Alois growled like a rabid dog. Wrapping his fingers around the leather binding him to his bed, a quick and effortless tug freed his hands. A similar tug at his ankles snapped the ties at his feet like brittle twigs. He rose up, standing in his bed to the horror of Mills and Yates who did nothing but watch. 

“He who strikes first wins,” the demon living in Alois’ skin warned. A shiver passed through both of the priests watching over him. One second, the clerics believed that angering this monster would be their demise, but when they thought the beast would strike, the fury in his eyes faded away. The tension in his muscles relaxed and Alois collapsed onto the bed.

* * *

“Don’t slouch.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ciel glanced to his left. He could see Sebastian’s eyes staring at him through the keyhole, shining fiery light into the hallway. Sebastian’s throaty protest only made Ciel’s trembling worsen. He held a heavy bucket of blessed water with both of his hands. Though the water was in no way heated, the metal of the bucket was singeing his hands and its weight was making it difficult to hold on. But he couldn’t set it down. The new maid, an old, callous woman, snapped at him twice already. A third offense would be punished. 

Mills and Yates spilled out of Alois’ bedroom in a huff. The door handle slamming into the wall startled Ciel and he spilled some of the water. He barely held in a pained yelp, more afraid of the nun glaring down at him than the burning of his skin. With Yates abandoning them without so much as a passing glance, it was up to Mills to brief Ciel and the maid. 

He sighed, collecting himself, “Good evening Sister Finch, Ciel.” 

“Good–”

“How severe is the damage?” Sister Finch interrupted. She pursed her lips, impatiently waiting to be escorted into the room. Mills’ jaw dropped. He swallowed and gathered his wits in the company of a student and a lady. 

“The boy has broken through his restraints, but–” Sister Finch groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“For goodness sake, Thomas,” she complained, “just tell me how long you think it will take us to clean this mess up.” 

Ciel could tell that she’d been with the seminary before, and it seemed that she was intimately familiar with not only Professor Mills, but the delicacy of the task she was given. She’s done this before. Ciel squeezed the bucket and stood a little straighter, but he never met her eyes. 

“The damage is moderate,” Mills stated simply. He quickly stepped out of the way, letting Sister Finch pass by with her head held high. Ciel obediently followed suit, stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Professor Mills leaned in, keeping his words private. “How are you feeling, Ciel?” Mills could see him shaking. 

“I’m fine,” Ciel responded in feigned positivity, “thank you.”

Mills pressed in even closer. “Is it near?”

“No.” From the doorway, Sister Finch stood in wait, stubbornly crossing her arms. Ciel swallowed. Sister Finch could practically smell it on him. She knew everything. “Your affliction is waiting for you in your room,” she said, “isn’t it?” With his eyes trained on the floor, he nodded. The hand on his shoulder disappeared. 

“The Lord be with you,” Mills wished for the both of them.

“And also with you,” Sister Finch replied. Mills departed. “Now let’s go, Ciel.” 

Inside Alois’ room appeared more or less tidy. Ciel’s brows furrowed as he scanned the room for something to clean. Sister Finch stood beside him, watching intently for Ciel’s reaction. Directionless and confused, Ciel stood in his place, but the longer he waited for a task, the hotter the water in the bucket became. He glanced up and met an unhappy glare cast down by Sister Finch. She raised a brow. 

“It’s hot,” Ciel complained. Sister Finch raised a hand and dipped it into the water, displaying no pain or discomfort, just mild anger. 

“It seems alright to me.” 

Ciel whined, feeling the water starting to simmer. Then something caught his eye. Mills had said that the boy had broken through his restraints. Alois lied tucked away under his blankets, curled up into a ball. But Ciel couldn’t miss those clear blue eyes staring directly at him. Their gazes met. Unable to look away, Ciel grimaced and tried to endure the pain. But it seemed as though Alois’ eyes alone were making the water boil. Eventually it was too much. Ciel dropped the bucket with a yelp, spilling holy water all over the floor. His forearms were burnt and raw, he could see blisters starting to form. 

Sister Finch dropped a rag into his hands. “Start scrubbing,” she ordered. “The floor and the inside walls must be thoroughly covered. The ceiling can be left alone. Get the outside walls as best you can, but the floor and inside walls are your priority.” She turned and headed for the door, gathering up her skirts to avoid the water. “I’ll return with more water,” she announced, and then she was gone. 

It was tiresome work, scrubbing on his hands and knees. He worked with purpose and determination. Every stone cemented into the floor shined like a jewel, and every inch he soaked in holy water was an inch of his mind that finally felt clean. He was beginning to feel like himself. His thoughts were his own. His brain wasn’t so crowded anymore. 

The floor was finished, throwing moonbeams from stone to stone. Ciel’s hands were pink and scalded, but he could bare it. With the last inch of water at the bottom of the bucket, he started at the bottom corner of his first inside wall, working God’s protection into each crack. 

"Hey..." 

Ciel gasped, stilling like a frightened deer. A light, sleepy voice called out to him. Ciel has been so vigorously at work that he’d completely forgotten about the boy in his bed. When Ciel didn’t answer right away, Alois spoke again, lilting and quieted unlike any other encounter Ciel had had with him before. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured, “it’s me.” Ciel was motionless, staring into the wall and praying for Sister Finch to return. Alois wasn’t disappearing like Ciel wanted him to. “Hey,” he called out, “look at me.” Slowly complying, Ciel stood and turned, taking a few paces backward to press his shoulder blades into the wall. 

The first thing Ciel noticed about Alois was his eyes. He’d only ever seen them narrow and challenging or fiery and threatening. Now he was at peace, a sleepy calmness slowed his movements. He repositioned himself, pulling his arms up to cradle his head as he looked upon the student in his room. 

"I'm Alois," he introduced himself politely, "what's your name?" 

He swallowed. "Ciel..." 

Alois smiled at the making of a new friend. His eyes lit up and for a moment, Ciel felt compelled to smile back. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ciel–”

"Don't talk to him,” a stern voice boomed. Ciel whipped around, accidentally making eye contact with Sister Finch. She’d returned with more holy water. “I’ll take it from here. Now go." 

“I-I’m sorry Sister Finch,” Ciel tried to apologize, but the violent, punishing look on her face frightened him into submission. He dropped his rag right onto the floor, hurrying out of the room as fast as he could. 

"Bye Ciel!" Alois called out as he departed. 

“Goodnight Alois,” Ciel replied as mannerly as ever. As soon as the words slipped from his tongue, Sister Finch’s long fingernails clawed his shoulder and forced him out of the room and into the hallway. The second Alois disappeared from his sight, Ciel experienced a hurt so strong that he doubled over, dropping to his knees. His skin had bubbled up into gnarly bruises that stood up all over his body. His bones ached and his joints ground together like unoiled machinery. He could barely make it the ten feet he had to traverse to arrive at his own room. 

By the time he returned to his bedroom, Ciel was quaking. He drug his feet across the floor, determined not to collapse before he made it into bed. His little room was cold and dry, all heat, moisture, and light absorbed by Sebastian as he lied in wait amongst the shadows; but steam rolled off of Cie’s skin in clouds. The further he retreated into the darkness the hotter the sheen of holy water burned him like fever sweat. 

His legs gave out from exhaustion. By some miracle, he fell across the bed, head lolling off the side. Too tired to even lift a finger, never mind reposition himself, Ciel let his eyes close and the blood rush to his head. Suffering a migraine in the morning seemed inevitable no matter what he did. An immovable heaviness had already taken over. 

The graceful touch of tentative talons passed over Ciel’s back, locating giant splotches of scalded skin and knotted muscles. 

“Please,” he whispered desperately, “I’m so tired.” 

_“Shhh…”_

Invisible hands lifted Ciel off the bed, replacing him where he could be comfortable. Sebastian listened intently, following where Ciel’s muscles tensed with pain to ease it. Gelid palms numbed the ache. Practiced circular motions worked free all the kinks and strains. Ciel sobbed quietly, hovering on the edge of sleep. 

_“How did this happen?”_ Sebastian asked, sounding so close and so concerned that Ciel almost thought he could turn over and see him staring back. But Sebastian was never there when he did. Ciel couldn’t speak and Sebastian wouldn’t force him. He fell quiet, straightening out the vertebrae that made up Ciel’s spine and brushing the hair from his eyes. Seconds before sleep overtook him, a faint orange glow caught his eye. Something was burning Sebastian, eating away his gloves right down to his skin. Ciel opened his mouth to ask what had happened but he had no energy and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

It was always the same dream. 

Ciel found himself sitting on the floor in his father’s office, playing with a little wooden boat. All was in its place. Ciel remembered this day. It was Christmas Eve in the year 1885, he had just turned ten years old. 

The house was hollow and empty. His vision tinted blue. His movements were slowed like the house had been submerged in water. And like water, the rooms caught muffled echoes of several voices. He knew the order. First, the woman’s voice in the guest apartment would weep and moan like a ghost. Ciel ran up the stairs to investigate, but every time he made it to the exact spot from which the voice emanated, it was gone. Then the next voice, another woman, would sigh from the master bedroom. Her sighs would grow to whines and purrs. She would praise the man rucking her skirts and telling her that she’s beautiful. In a daze, Ciel had always been unendingly curious, but every step he took burned his cheeks a little more. When the echo of her moans reverberated off the walls in the hallway, she too disappeared. The last voice was the man, and Ciel was never asleep long enough to find out what he said. 

His voice was coming from the library at the end of the corridor. The man seemed to whisper to himself like he was trying to come up with a plan. He was frantically searching for the right words to say, but nothing could articulate what he wished to describe. 

Ciel was just outside the library but the voice seemed miles away. He swallowed and approached the door, unfamiliar with this depth of the dream. This is the furthest he’d ever gone. Peering through the space between the door and the frame, Ciel searched for the source of the voice, for the man. Amazingly enough, this voice didn’t suddenly quiet before Ciel could find it. He was there. He stood facing a wall of books with his hands at his sides, standing perfectly still. He spoke to himself, going back and forth but never finding any common ground. 

“Hello?” Ciel called out to him, hiding behind the door when a sinking feeling made him regret speaking. The man turned away from the books slowly and Ciel recognized him immediately. 

“Ciel,” the man spoke his name in an unfeeling monotone. He showed no emotions. Even his eyes were two deep black pits with no light in them at all. But Ciel still recognized him, stepping closer involuntarily. 

“Daddy?” 

Ciel was running, hurrying to close the space between them, but Vincent never moved a muscle. Ciel slowed to a stop at his feet, heart racing and mind filling to the brim with emotions he couldn’t name. He could’ve smiled, he could’ve cried, but he held it all in out of respect for his father who didn’t look happy to see him at all. 

“You’re home,” he observed, lips barely moving to form the words. His voice carried through the house. Though Ciel was frightened by the big black holes in the place of sanguine brown eyes, he edged closer, looking up into his father’s face with a childlike, blindly optimistic hope. 

“For good?” he asked. 

“No,” Vincent denied, “you will never return for good.” 

The wind left his lungs like the rejection swiftly shoved him to the ground. Ciel was stunned. It was hard to breathe, his heart was racing, his skin was going cold and clammy. Millions of protests clogged his throat but none of them would come up. He was panicking, hyperventilating. At this rate, he would pass out and his father would never let him come back. 

“No… no no no!” He sank to his knees, digging his hands into his hair. “What am I doing here?! What’s happening, what does it mean?!” Part of him realized that he was trapped within the confines of the dream, but it wasn’t strong enough to overcome the part of him that wanted to believe that he was home. “I’ve been good!” he promised, but still, Vincent wouldn’t comfort him and he wouldn’t take back what he said. 

“Why?” Ciel implored, dragging himself to his feet. He fought to inflate his lungs. The marine atmosphere was beginning to solidify. He could feel water flooding his nose and mouth like he was trapped underwater. 

“Because you’re in danger…” Vincent swallowed. _“I’m_ in danger.” Ciel shook his head, denying the imperfection of his father. He was a saint. He was strong and wise and clever. No man could ever think to dislike Vincent Phantomhive, his charisma and unending kindness was too charming to hate. Even his success at the expense of rival companies proved no reason to pursue any hostile actions against him. Still, Vincent was clear. His days were numbered. 

Ciel rushed forward and threw his arms around his father’s waist. Streaming eyes stained his waistcoat, little buttons printed their shape into Ciel’s cheek. He was all out sobbing before Vincent found it in himself to comfort his only son. A pressed white glove carded through Ciel’s hair, calming him down. 

“Listen to me,” Vincent ordered, “do as your father says.” Ciel instinctively tightened his hold around his father’s waist, latching onto him in case he was ordered away. A firm, stubborn protest lied in wait on the tip of his tongue. Vincent took a deep breath. Ciel squeezed his eyes shut.

“Stay away from Alois Trancy.” 

“Huh?” Ciel’s eyes flew open and locked onto his father’s face. They blew wide and shocked as hundreds of little spiders crawled from his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Vincent Phantomhive was a gaping shell, a vessel for a colony of spiders escaping by the dozen. Ciel flew backward, tripping over his own feet and landing on the floor. Distrusting his eyes, he closed them up tight and rubbed them raw until his mind cleared. But when he opened back up, Vincent Phantomhive had caught fire.

In an instant, he was swallowed in flame. It constricted him like a snake, licking his cheeks and wrapping around him until his entire body was engulfed in inferno. He just stood there, unbothered, staring at Ciel. He couldn’t get close enough. Ciel was screaming and yelling for help that wouldn’t come. Then he noticed that he was holding onto something. In the palm of his hand was a single burned out match. 

Smoke. Thick black smoke rising through the air. Filling his nose and mouth. Burning his eyes.

Ciel awakened with a jolt, gasping a mouthful of thick black fog. His eyes flew open, meeting the gaze of two others, narrow and focused. Ciel coughed, frantically fanning it away, but the more he resisted the more smoke Sebastian breathed. His throat was closing. He was choking to death. 

“Get out of my body!” Ciel screamed, “Get out! Just leave me alone!” 

His vision clouded, everything turned black. 

Minutes passed before Ciel could see again. The moon shone high in the sky, casting its light into his room from his window. He was stricken with violent fits of coughing that shook his bones and made his insides ache. He tried to sit up, but wound up doubling over and coughing up black bile. He barely noticed the soft breathing coming from the corner opposite him. But the presence of another grew. The weight of another gaze softer than Sebastian’s drew Ciel’s eyes upward. 

A ghostly figure, thin and pale, stood in the moonlight looking directly at him. Crystalline, clear, and blue Ciel recognized him right away. His brows knit together. 

“Alois?” 

Alois was silent, entranced and emotionless. Ciel watched him for as long as he was able until the pulls of sleep were too firm to ignore. He drifted off sitting up in bed. By the time the sun peeked up over the moors, Alois was gone.


	5. Opposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again for taking forever and a day, my life's been really rough not that anyone cares.

_It was cold. Dark. The storm raged on. He stood in the middle of a thin, dirty corridor. It was quiet, almost silent despite the rain. So quiet that a hushed northern accent startled him._

_“Hello? Is someone there?”_

_From the cell to his right, he saw two frail hands with spindly fingers close around the bars in the window that held the captive trapped within._

_“Hello?” she warbled again, desperate and confused._

_He whispered her name, recognizing that voice anywhere. He rushed forward to put his eyes on her, and there she was, exhausted and thin as a rail._

_“Mey? Mey Rin?” He couldn’t believe it. “It’s me. It’s me, Mey, it’s William.”_

_Without her glasses, Mey Rin couldn’t distinguish right from left, up from down, or anyone’s faces. But she knew his voice. She remembered the gentility he always used, his patience with her. Through the bars holding her in, he cleared her hair from her eyes, comforted her in her depression and loneliness._

_“I’ll get you out of here soon,” he promised, “I’ll steal you away and hide you until you’re safe.”_

_“No,” she protested, “No, I must get back to him. Please, you have to help me.”_

_“Who?” he questioned, “Mey, it’s me–”_

_“Does he ask for me? Does Sebastian ask for me?”_

_“Mey…”_

_“Get away from there, Mr. Dobson.” A stoney old woman in a black habit approached silently, her hands folded and hidden in the sleeves of her dress. “She is beyond saving.” Inside her cell, Mey Rin was tearing at the walls, hysterical and inhuman. She growled like a dog with its leg caught in a bear trap._

_“Sister Finch?” she nodded._

_“There is much work to be done,” she turned to leave, gesturing for him to follow, “Let’s go.”_

“Dobson, what is the result of combining…”

_“Wait, Mey…”_

“Dobson, are you listening?”

_“Will…?”_

“Dobson? Dobson!”

Like a shot of adrenaline straight into his brain, Dobson jolted and snapped out of reverie. He could barely keep his eyes open, but every time they sank shut flashes of memory would frighten him to wakefulness. 

“Have you been paying attention?” his professor questioned grumpily. 

“No not really, Sir,” Dobson replied truthfully. “I haven’t been able to get to sleep these past few days.” 

His peers noticed the dark bags under his eyes. He was paler too, like he’d seen a ghost. There were a litany of rumors circulating about what might’ve caused the school’s prized prefect such distress. They ranged from a recent addiction to opium to being swindled into sin by some lovely mistress of the night. No one knew for certain. Dobson was a friend of the people, but the people were not his friends. They knew close to nothing about what was really on his mind. 

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining to the class what is troubling you?” the professor suggested spitefully, affronted by Dobson’s ability to tune out his lesson. The class murmured their approval. All their eyes rested where they could in his direction. “Might I remind you that lying is a breach of the Commandments themselves,” the professor added. Dobson swallowed. 

“I… I saw it,” he admitted, “it looked right at me, right through me.” The class waited for explanation, staying quiet and riveted. “The raven that killed Patrick,” Dobson explained, disbelieving his own words as they rolled off his tongue, “it’s a messenger… from Hell.”

“Barking mad,” one of the students dismissed. A few others agreed. 

Dobson continued, “I went to see Mey Rin… You should’ve seen what it’s done to her…”

“Dobson,” the professor warned, “don’t say another word.” But it was too late. Every thought and sentiment Dobson tried to force down was coming up like vomit. Every word that left his lips triggered new and terrifying images of those slitted, catlike eyes leering at him through the darkness, of Ciel Phantomhive frantically cleansing his room of the spirit that haunted him, and of the possibility that there was more than one monster lurking under their noses. 

“You have to believe me,” Dobson was starting to panic. “I saw it, I really did. I saw it! We’re in danger. We’re all in danger!” Four members of the faculty rushed in, politely asking Dobson to stand and leave the classroom peacefully. When he refused to stand, he was yanked right out of his seat by firm hands. “You have to believe me!” he shouted to all the alarmed eyes that watched him. “They’re coming! No one is safe! God has abandoned us all!”

* * *

The sun set later and later into the night, and rose earlier and earlier in the morning. The days lengthened and warmed. The clouds parted. Wildflowers bloomed in groups in the fields and courtyards. Caterpillars became butterflies. Cicadas sang. The students were all outside enjoying the weather. Echoes of laughter grew quiet and they headed away in small bands, instilling their hopeful happiness into the stones that built up this seminary school. The school had been abandoned for the day, by all but seven people.

Mills occupied the library when he wasn’t helping in the kitchens or giving mass; Yates and two deacons on their way to becoming priests enjoyed the fountains in the Outdoor Commons; Sister Finch laundered all of the bedclothes; and Headmaster Tanaka took tea in his office. And while they all toiled away at their tasks, all the way on the southern side of the seminary, one student slept with his nose tucked up in his arm, and another hauled a bucket of water into his room. 

Ordinary well water, though still heavy and hard to carry by thin, spindly arms, was cool and gentle on his skin and he was thankful for it. Confidently wielding a thick dish rag, Ciel furrowed his brows at a sizable spray of swampy green across the floor, even hitting the wall a few feet away. He glared at Alois, resting in his bed after projectile vomiting yesterday’s dinner. He was exhausted, he wasn’t himself. It was the monster who’d made this mess, and Ciel tried not to fault Alois too much, but it was baking in the sun. The smell alone was enough to inspire anger in Ciel’s otherwise docile disposition. Soaking the rag in the water and wringing it out as much as he could, Ciel approached the boy sleeping in his bed. 

Every night for thirteen days, Ciel awoke from his nightmare at exactly midnight. And every night, Alois stood in a dark corner of the room, entranced and silent. Ciel tried speaking to him for the first few nights, even stayed up as late as his body would let him in case Alois had something to say. But those pale blue eyes were glassy and void, like his soul had vacated his body. He just stood there, watching Ciel in his bed as he slept. Ciel would rise with the sun, eyes immediately darting to where Alois stood; but he was always gone by the time Ciel woke up, though it always felt like he’d only just disappeared moments ago. 

Alois slept peacefully, untormented by his dreams. He breathed steadily, evenly. Ciel sighed, combatting his enviousness. Alois was youthful and healthy with flushed cheeks and glowing skin. Ciel was too thin, too pale. His face was gaunt and malnourished from all the energy Sebastian stole from him. His eyes were dark and sunken like he’d never slept a day in his life. But here he was, gently cleaning sick from the corners of Alois’ mouth, careful not to wake him. At least the water didn’t burn him so much. 

Soon the water in the bucket was murky and filthy, but the mess was nearly erased. Ciel scrubbed with practice and purpose until it seemed as though the mess had never occurred. Sister Finch would be proud of him, though she’d never make it known. With the last few stones shining in the light, Ciel was finished, tossing the rag into the bucket with a satisfying plop. He was yanking at the bucket’s handle to raise it from the ground when a hushed groan coming from behind him startled him. 

Light lashes lifted and blinked their vision clear. Alois shifted under his blankets and whined at the brightness of the light filtering in through the window. “What happened?” he questioned confusedly. He looked around the room for any signs or explanation. 

Ciel stood perfectly still, mouth opening and closing as hundreds of thoughts were produced and discarded. His eyes skidded from resting place to resting place while Alois was perfectly comfortable looking right at him, right into him. 

“You made a mess,” Ciel blurted out the first thing that made sense in his mind, “I was cleaning it up.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Alois apologized nonchalantly. Ciel’s eyes widened at his choice of words, and Alois cringed. “Oh, uh… I mean…” Alois tried to correct himself, shimmying up to a sitting position with one hand and waving profanity away with the other. When he looked back to Ciel’s direction, he was already on his way out. 

“I have to go,” he excused himself as politely as possible, but his voice shook uncertainly. “Sister Finch says I’m not supposed to talk to you.” 

“Hey! Wait!” 

Ciel whirled around, looking back into the room to protest. His mouth ran dry. Alois wasn’t in his bed, and a cloud of black smoke was dissipating in his place. Ciel called his name, feeling his uncertainty bubble up into fear deep in his belly. His breathing picked up with his heart rate the more he stared at the empty bed. 

“Do you really have to go?” Ciel gasped. Emerging from a veil of black fog, Alois appeared right behind him, a crooked smile sinking dimples into his cheeks. “I hardly got the chance to talk to you–”

“Don’t do that!” Ciel shouted. He stumbled backward into Alois’ room, spilling dirty water all over himself and the floor. He barely saved the bucket from tumping over and ruining all his hard work. Alois frowned, following Ciel back into the room and swatting the door closed out of habit. It slammed shut and Ciel nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Hey, I–”

“Don’t touch me!” Ciel backed away. “It’s awake! Professor! Sister! It’s–”

“Be quiet,” Alois barked, stealing Ciel’s voice right from him. He exhaled the sudden firmness of tone and shook his head. “It’s me,” he claimed, “I swear to you. Look into my eyes.” 

Alois was taller than Ciel had expected, enough that he had to cast his gaze higher than normal to test his humanity. Alois raised his hands, looking unhappy but confident in his own free will. His mind was clear and it showed. Even when his lips parted to let his tongue pass over them, no unnatural glow of possession marked the presence of the shadow that followed him.

“You… I _saw_ you. You just… _appeared_ right behind me.” Alois choked, smiling wide and never bothering to make up an excuse. Ciel’s brow furrowed. “How did you do that if you’re still you?”

“It’s a deal we made,” Alois shrugged, “he can stay inside of me as long as I can be me sometimes and use his power.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, sharing out information like it was nothing. His cheeks flushed just a little bit more. “He says I keep him warm at night. You have one too, don’t you?” 

The sudden question broke down the fear at the forefront of Ciel’s mind, replacing it was surprise and confusion. He took another step back, but the more space he tried to put between them, the more Alois advanced towards him, thinking nothing of it. 

“You’ll never guess who chose me,” Alois challenged with playful excitement. He was quiet for a moment, waiting expectantly for Ciel to play along, but he just stood there, cautious and questioning. But Ciel’s closedness rolled off of him like water off a duck’s back, Alois breezed through the awkward silence that stretched between them and answered his own question. “I’ll give you a hint,” he offered. “He has the horns of a ram? The wings of a dragon?” Still Ciel would not answer, he just stared. But Alois wasn’t paying much attention. “Not a lot of people know this,” he went on, lost in thought, “he has these big, golden eyes. Warm… Piercing…” he sighed, “Beautiful...”

Ciel swallowed, glancing at the door and thinking that this boy must be out of his mind. He couldn’t bare to explore the idea that he himself could don this swooning look of absolute rapture. Perhaps _this_ is what he looked like when Sebastian replaced Ciel’s inhibitions with his own; crazy, insane with infatuation. 

“The Destroyer,” Alois revealed, “ _Abaddon._ ” 

A faint glow illuminated the inside of Alois’ mouth; light shined from between his teeth. The temperature in the bedroom plunged fast, dropping from comfortable warmth to foreboding frost. From the wall that joined this room to Ciel’s, only he could hear the almost imperceptible warning hissed out between hellish teeth, gnashing and sharpening, just waiting for the command to come. 

“Heard of him?” Alois asked, throwing his gaze in the direction Ciel was staring in. His eyes were locked on that wall, ears listening fiercely. Alois was light and oblivious, standing over Ciel and wondering why he’d so suddenly went pale. “I call him Claude though,” he added, “because he doesn’t want anyone to know his name. But I trust you.” Not once did Ciel return any of his smiles, no matter how big or genuine they were. A full-body shiver brought him to the ground; Ciel collapsed with his back in the corner of the room with nowhere to go. His mind was slipping. 

“Please, I have to go,” he begged in a thin voice. The edges of his vision were beginning to swim. The cold was blowing right through him. He could feel Sebastian’s claws against the wall like he was pawing at his brain for entry. “He’s angry.”

“Are you okay?” Alois plopped down next to him, disconcertion bending his brows upward. Ciel was losing focus fast. Alois reached up to touch him, but Ciel shied away from his hand like he thought he would hit him with it. “I’m not gonna _hurt_ you, my God!” Another profanity slipped free and Ciel receded into himself to hide from it. He watched Alois inwardly kick himself, sitting up and approaching him from a different angle. “I don’t mean any harm, I promise. I just wanna talk to someone who doesn’t piss me off for once.” Alois grimaced. “Some of the people here just… _rub me wrong._ But you?” Ciel watched his face intently, slowly calming down. “You seem okay,” Alois said, “friend worthy.”

The wall that separated Ciel from the world was compromised. A swift blow to his weakest point had it fractured and crumpling in a second. “A… a friend?” he stammered. 

“Yeah,” Alois exclaimed quietly, “with all you’ve done for me? I’m indebted to you,” he inched closer, slowly raising a hand for him to take, “Ciel.” 

Ciel’s name rolled off of Alois’ tongue with such ease that Ciel was nearly convinced they’d been life-long friends. New people _always_ pronounced his name incorrectly or asked if he’d been born in France to receive such a foreign and uncommon moniker. Alois, on the other hand, got it right without even batting an eye. 

“You know my name?” Ciel questioned from the corner. He relaxed, stopped his pressing into the walls, even inched forward just a hair. 

“Yeah, you told me a few weeks ago, remember?” Alois closed in, leaning closer and closer to coax Ciel out of the corner with a warm smile that creased the corners of his eyes. 

Ciel mumbled, “I didn’t think _you_ would remember,” under his breath. He looked up to meet Alois’ gaze to discover him even closer, much closer than Ciel had anticipated. He shrank. “Could you…” he trailed off. But Alois understood and backed off, giving Ciel enough room to move. “You can’t touch me,” he explained, bracing himself on the wall as he stood, “it upsets him.”

“It seems like he’s already upset,” Alois observed. His attention wandered up to the ceiling. Alois stood towards the center of his room, pointing out the downy, black feathers materializing from thin air. Ciel watched, enchanted by their beauty as they floated down through the air to the floor by the dozen. 

“Who is he?” Alois asked curiously, never taking his eyes off the raven feathers snowing from the ceiling. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Ciel barely heard Alois promise to keep his darkest secret. He was swallowed up in a mesmerizing peace, feeling the softness of Sebastian’s feathers where they caressed his cheeks and kissed his nose. He’d caught a few in his hands, holding them as they faded away.

“He’s the… The Deceiver–” 

Startled out of trance by a sharp gasp, Ciel yelped as his field of vision was taken over by Alois’ face. His eyes were wild with shock and surprise, scrutinizing Ciel’s face and gaze, standing a little too close for comfort. 

“You’re telling me that… that–” Alois looked over his shoulders, lowering his voice to a whisper, “ _Mephistopheles is in your body?!_ ” 

A sharp, stinging pain threw Ciel’s balance to his left. His shoulder hit the wall with a weak thud. He smacked a palm to his right eye but the pressure did not relieve the pain. When he pulled his hand away, his palm was dotted with blood. He’d lost sight in the eye Sebastian had claimed for his own. Purpled with contusion, it throbbed with the beat of his heart, the sign of the Devil burned into it. 

Alois was awestruck. “What does it feel like?” he asked in morbid curiosity. “What does he _look_ like?” Before long, Alois was babbling hundreds of different questions each more excited than the last. 

Ciel shuddered, pain racing up and down his spine like his body didn’t know where to put it. Suffering ricocheted through his abdomen like a wrecking ball. Even attempting to open his eye sent new shocks of agony directly to the back of his brain. His vision ran a deep, dark red. 

“It hurts,” Ciel ground out through his teeth. He panted through the pain. “I can’t see. Alois. Help me.”

Watching Ciel crumble, Alois’ exuberance sank to worry. He whimpered like a beat dog, pawing at his injured eye as the feathers falling from the ceiling slowly collected on the floor all around him. Alois didn’t hear the insistent rapping at the wall that Ciel leaned against, but he saw that his head was pounding. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered in realization, “You didn’t want this.” After a few moments, the burning pain subsided to a dull throb. Ciel could tolerate it, and stood up off the wall on unsure legs. “I’m so sorry, Ciel,” Alois apologized. He approached slowly, ghosting his hands over Ciel’s to wish it away. Underneath, Ciel could barely keep the eye open long enough for Alois to assess the damage. He never made contact with his skin as he examined the seal of an old and infamous demon etched into Ciel’s iris. “He chose you,” Alois reassured him in a soft voice, “He’s your gift just as you are his. You don’t have to be afraid of him.” 

“And you’re not?” Ciel questioned. All he knew of his demon was fear and torment. Alois lit up. 

“Oh no!” he corrected, blushing up nice and rosy, “what Claude and I have… it’s… It’s _special_ ,” he sighed, “ _I’m_ special.” This was a type of romanticism that had always embarrassed Ciel in the past. It reminded him of all the guests attending parties in his manor, the questions they asked about he and his betrothed, Elizabeth. He instinctively rolled his eyes, wincing at sharp pain. “But it’s okay,” Alois went on, “I have my bad days too. Sometimes he makes me so ill I want to _die!_ ” Alois moaned like a ghost, dramatically clawing at his cheeks and making himself laugh. 

Alois was very silly, and growing sillier and sillier the more Ciel sat there in cold upset. It took him a few perplexed moments to figure out that Alois was trying to cheer him up. 

“Thank you…” He spoke slowly, deliberately. 

“What are friends for?” Alois beamed, perfect and beautiful. No one could ever tell of his affliction just by looking at him. He was so lighthearted, so soft and hopeful. No one could ever suspect the darkness that lurked under his skin. Ciel briefly wondered how he’d come to contract such a fatal disease, but he wouldn’t ask.

A gust of wind pushed open the door, it’s handle hitting the wall with a slam. Just like that, the sun dove behind the clouds. The warmth of a promising summer evaporated, leaving behind a dry chill to haunt the air. One, two, three heavy thumps against the door to the next bedroom. The fourth one tore it right off it’s hinges. All the color drained from Ciel’s face at the sight of a sleek black raven, coasting in and alighting on his shoulder. Glossy black feathers matched the ones on the floor, they tried to warn him. 

“Alois Trancy,” The bird looked directly at him, but the voices whispered from the shadows. Ciel stood perfectly still, face frozen in utter terror, but Alois stepped forward, taking in the beauty of the raven that knew his name. 

“Wow…” he whispered in starstruck rapture, “you’re beautiful, Mephisto–”

“Please,” a silky soft voice interrupted, “call me _Sebastian._ ” The name echoed and reverberated off the walls, growing distant and more quiet with every repetition. It was the way it looked at him, Alois couldn’t find it in him to look away. Blinking slowly, Alois nodded his head, submitting to Sebastian’s request easily. “I won’t to harm you, Alois, I wish to warn you,” Sebastian assured, luring the boy closer and closer, “If you ever attempt to touch him again, you’ll meet a dismal fate.”

“I will meet... a dismal... fate…” 

_“Is that a threat?”_ A second chorus of voices, different in pitch and tone, spoke out from the darkness, catching the attention of Ciel and Sebastian. Crawling out from behind a puff of smoke, a big, dark Cardinal Spider stood on elegant tip-toe, unafraid to cross the room slowly and gracefully. Distracted by mild concern, the raven fixed its gaze upon the spider, releasing Alois from his trance. He returned to consciousness with a gasp, immediately recognizing the spider leisurely making its way to him. He scooped it up with the utmost care, barely flinching when it sank its fangs into his fingertips to taste his blood. 

_“Semper instans,”_ Sebastian replied, swallowing a growl that made Ciel weak at the knees. The room grew silent as one one, but _two_ creatures of the night delved into the minds of their captives. The only one sentiment echoed throughout Ciel’s thoughts, and he couldn’t tell if they were his or Sebastian’s. But it was certain, urgent. 

_Run._

Turning sharply on his heel, Ciel bolted from his spot towards the back of the room, making a beeline for the door. 

“Wait!” Alois shouted, and he instinctively grabbed for Ciel’s hand. He caught it, making physical contact at last. 

The next few seconds were a blur. The spider in Alois’ hands lept into his mouth, disappearing down his throat. With a mangled groan, Alois dropped to the ground. His eyes squeezed shut. Sebastian dove for the floor, exploding into a thick mist that engulfed Ciel entirely, hiding him from view. When Alois reopened his eyes, they were gold and glowing. The seal on his tongue shined with passion. 

“ _Ego te volo._ ”

The next sound to fill the room was unlike Ciel had ever heard before. For a split second, Sebastian lost it. In an aggressive show of dominance, he roared in his mother tongue. No more masks, no more façades. Pure, unbridled rage and warning blew all of the furniture to the back wall. The walls of the seminary shook. The thin prayers holding Lennon Hall in one piece were jeopardized. But the monster inside Alois showed no fear. Claude only scanned the darkness for signs of Ciel, eager to put his eyes on him once more. 

Ciel stood in a puddle of piss and terror, right on the edge of losing consciousness. Filling the room with impenetrable fog, Sebastian whispered for him to make his escape. And somehow, he found enough strength to run back to his bedroom and slam the door before passing out. 

“I came here for you, _Sebastian,_ ” Claude drawled in his own tongue through youth and fragility of Alois’ body. Rapidly losing energy, the smoke dissipated, but Sebastian remained, possessing the air around them as a metaphysical shadow. “I now understand why you have dishonored us, Mephistopheles. The boy’s soul. It speaks to me,” that marked tongue slipped out to pass hungrily over his lips, “it sings.” He heaved in a deep breath, savoring the last of Ciel’s scent as it lingered. “ _Esculentus…_ ” 

_“Para bellum,”_ Sebastian warned, red eyes shining through the blackness. _“Et perdat.”_

Alois’ lips twisted up into a sick, challenging grin. “ _Veni, vidi,”_ he let loose a single puff of laughter, _“vincet.”_


	6. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not as good as it could be but i wanted to keep my promise and update on time. 
> 
> also, i might post the first drafts of one of my novels here...? im gonna pretend its a fanfic, and it wont be full versions of the chapters, but i kinda wanna know if people like it before i send it to editors and stuff... idk let me know.

On the edge of consciousness, Ciel breathed easy. The sun was minutes away from bringing light to the Earth. The birds had begun their morning songs. It was nearly time to wake up, but Ciel was trapped in the throes of an incoherent dream. 

He was standing in an all white room with no windows or doors, no possible escape. In the center of the room stood a tall, invisible being whose shadow was cast thick and back against the wall, looking almost as if it was painted there it stood so still. Ciel stared at it, unsure of who it could be. Whoever it was, they looked… sad. 

“Help me,” they whispered in a small, pained whimper, “Help me, please. Ciel, _help me.”_

“What’s happened to you?” Ciel questioned, taking a step closer to where the shadow ended, supposedly where the being’s feet were grounded. With just a step closer, he could hear an almost inaudible weeping. It sounded like a little boy. “Why do you cry?” Ciel asked, becoming more and more concerned by the second. 

“I’m hurt,” the voice wept, “it hurts so much. I’m weak.” 

“What happened?”

“I wanted to protect you,” it admitted, “Ciel, did I save you?” It sounded helpless, wounded, like all it wanted was to stand between Ciel and all the things that wanted to harm him. But it couldn’t. Not in this condition. The shadow doubled over, sobbing at the shivers of pain that wracked its body. 

“How?” Ciel shook his head, moved to tears, “how can I help you? Please, anything, just don’t cry.” The being couldn’t respond through waves of sorrow. “You _did_ save me,” Ciel reassured, “I couldn’t do this without you.”

The shadow stood up a little straighter. The being looked directly at him, and Ciel would’ve returned its gaze if he could see it. 

“Blood,” it said, “I need your blood.” 

Suddenly, a small paring knife appeared on the floor to Ciel’s right. He hesitated, but bent and retrieved the knife, holding the blade over his palm. The being said nothing. Ciel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and drew the knife over his skin, slicing it open. Red was the only color in this monochrome room. But the shock of the cut jolted Ciel to wakefulness. 

He opened his eyes. 

Ciel was alone in his little room. It was quiet. Only the birds and the breeze disturbed the silence, but the white noise of early morning was peaceful. He stepped out of bed, dressed himself as well as he could, and left for his first class of the day with no event. Aside from that strange dream, already slipping away from his memory, all was shaping up to be a day better than most.

There were about thirty students in early morning Mathematics, all were in their seventh and eighth years. Ciel was five years younger than the next youngest in the class, and was five years ahead of the other boys his age in study. Most of the students resented him, but they all quietly respected Ciel’s ability to learn and retain information. It was what calmed him. He found comfort in his intellect and enjoyed acquiring new and interesting knowledge, he was good at it too. 

“Students,” Keats, a Jesuit professor of Mathematics announced, “your attention.” 

Ciel looked up from a book he was hiding under the desk. He’d nearly forgotten about _Boule de Suif_ , and he’d burned through quite a bit of it before class started, inwardly content in the strength of his French. As he packed it up and hid it away, Ciel directed his attentions up towards the front of the classroom. Though he sat in the very back of the room all by himself, he recognized the face of a new student in a jacket slightly too small for him. 

“This is Alois Trancy. He will be joining us for the rest of the year.” 

“Good Morning, Trancy,” the students hummed in unison. 

Ciel sat up a little straighter, watching as Alois scanned the room. When their eyes met, a shiver ran up Ciel’s spine. The softness that Alois regarded him with in their previous encounters was clouded by a mischievous glint in a sharp gaze. Small wool school jacket squeezed narrow shoulders, narrower waist, and narrowest hips, leaving little to the imagination. Waif body complemented by buttermilk blond hair and cold blue eyes made him a sight to see, the entire classroom could only stare. 

“Morning, gents,” Alois greeted the class in his own, sleep-sandy voice. His eyes never left Ciel.

“Tell us about yourself,” the professor encouraged. The students didn’t protest. Some were even mildly curious about the newest addition to the school. They’d heard a bounty of rumors spanning from murder to sodomy. Even if they were only half true, Alois Trancy would certainly provide the excitement they craved in this dull seminary. 

Alois was staring at him, eyes flashing with the golden gleam of some other soul lingering in Alois’ skin, lips curling upward in a tight smirk. It was making Ciel’s skin crawl. With every second that passed under the heat of that gaze was it harder to breathe. Ciel was sweating. His belly tightened. His brain throbbed and fogged over. It was like he was on the edge of vomiting in the middle of class. Then something he’d heard Alois say before played in his mind. 

_Sometimes, he makes me so ill I want to die._

It couldn’t be. “ _Claude…?_ ” 

Alois passed the tip of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, letting loose and imperceptible glimmer of light that only Ciel could see, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, if I’m honest,” Alois purred, holding the entire class on the edge of their seats, “I’m _shit_ with numbers.” Thirty voices gasped.

Ciel scanned the room for signs of Sebastian, any movement, any sounds, anything at all to show that he was there and watching. Surely, he wouldn’t stand by. He had always seemed so fiercely adamant about keeping Ciel away from anything that breathed, never mind another of his kind. But Sebastian was nowhere to be found. Ciel didn’t remember telling him to stay behind, but it seemed that he’d chosen to leave Ciel alone.

“We do not allow profanity within these walls, Trancy,” Processor Keats advised. Alois apologized, not looking the least bit sorry. But it seemed to be enough for the professor who turned to face his class. “Phantomhive, please stand.” 

Ciel groaned, swallowing a wretch and hauling himself up to a standing position. He kept his palms flat on the desk, barely able to keep his head up. The professor didn’t notice. “Trancy, you’ll take the seat next to him. He is our star student, he can assist you.”

“I thought I was your star student!” someone towards the middle-right of the room exclaimed. 

“That’s alright,” Alois replied quickly, looking Ciel up and down. He’d already started making his way to him. “I prefer the back anyway.” With each step Alois took in his advance, Ciel hurled closer and closer to collapse. He fought against waves of sickness that washed over him again and again. He wasn’t sure he could hold it in any longer. 

“Professor,” he interrupted class, choking on his own saliva. Professor Keats looked over his shoulder, having begun writing notes up on the board. “I’m going to be sick,” Ciel warned, “right now. May I be excused?”

“Go, go,” Keats waved him away, and Ciel all but ran out of the room. Everyone was quiet. “Poor boy,” the professor sighed, glancing back at Alois, “he’s very sickly. He can’t help it. Everyone back to work.”

* * *

As soon as he stepped into the lavatory down the hall, all semblance of sickness faded away. He took a deep, shaky breath, considering forcing up whatever was left in his system just to avoid throwing up in public. Dry heaving was embarrassing enough. 

He headed over to the sinks, rolling the sleeves of his jacket up and out of the way. Cold water over his wrists and hands soothed away any remaining tremors of illness. A handful cooled his face, calmed the beginnings of a major migraine. He closed his eyes. Another handful was meant to relax his throat and vocal chords, but the water in the basin of the sink grew inky and dark. With the last of his strength, Sebastian poisoned the water. As soon as Ciel swallowed, his consciousness sank into a deep, dark void. When his eyes opened again, Sebastian was in control. 

“I tried to protect you,” Sebastian spoke through the guise of this fragile and brilliant young man, “but I can’t do this without you.”

* * *

“And this is why it is impossible to divide by zero.” 

Ciel stepped into the classroom with his head held low, hiding his right eye behind a mop of dark hair grown just a little too long. A few eyes flicked over, momentarily distracted, but no one raised a fuss. The professor nodded his acknowledgement, happy that Ciel was feeling well enough to see the lesson through. The only one who really stopped to look was Alois. Ciel narrowed his eyes. 

Even from this distance, Claude could sense the difference between Ciel and Sebastian right away. Ciel’s soul, hidden away in the clutches of the Deceiver, fluttered like a dove, injured and sad. Claude could hear the beat of its wings as it frantically looked for somewhere to land, tiring quickly. Sebastian was gaining strength by the second now that he was reunited with the soul he’d chosen, leaching vitality but never fatally wounding it. Curious behavior, certainly unlike any hellion Claude had ever seen before. 

Ciel made his way back to his desk quietly, as not to disturb the rest of the class. Alois didn’t seem to be paying attention. He sat with his heels propped up on the desk, arms crossed and eyes locked on his classmate headed right for him. Ciel wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off of his face, but he refused to be the one to make a scene. Sebastian was much too refined for any embarrassing lack of control. Claude invaded the Realm of the Tested from an entirely different circle. Where Sebastian tormented his victims with a wide array of skill and finesse, Claude was bound to the Seventh Circle. He was reckless and uncalculated, too much so that he was never allowed to traverse the circles unless explicitly told to do so. Sebastian made it his duty to terrorize them all, and the Lord thanked him for it. 

“You know,” Alois caught Ciel’s attention, muttering under his breath, “though you _are_ the Deceiver, I will not be fooled by your tricks.” 

“But you will be destroyed,” Sebastian dared to spit back in his own tongue. Alois raised an impressed brow. 

“You need to _relax_ ,” he purred, revelling in the shiver that ran up Ciel’s spine, “you’re weak enough as it is. When was the last time you fed?” Ciel ground his teeth, looking forward but not really seeing what his professor was trying to teach. Alois was only inches away, breathing down his neck. “You must be ravenous, Sebastian. Why do you _torture yourself?_ ” 

“Get away from me,” Ciel hissed, “or I swear I’ll–”

“What?” A delighted smile curled the corners of his mouth. Every word whispered that disturbed the fine hairs at the nape of Ciel’s neck only served to infuriate Sebastian more. The closeness shocked involuntary tremors up his spine, and Alois was so close he could feel them erupting all over his skin. “What will you do, Sebastian?”

“I don’t like this _gutter rat_ you’ve chosen,” Ciel spat, glaring at the front of the classroom in refusal. He refused to even look in Alois’ direction. “And I don’t like _you_ ,” he added in spite. 

“But I like you,” Alois countered. His hands crawled up to claw at Ciel’s shoulders, threatening to peel away his jacket. “And I _love_ this…” he mused. Though Sebastian was collected, Ciel’s body reacted to every touch and prod given. He wasn’t used to anyone even dwelling within the parameters Sebastian had set, let alone actually getting the chance to touch him. And though Sebastian fought against it, Ciel let out a shaky breath, muscles tensing as Alois drew nearer and traced his throat with the tip of his nose. “ _Suavis… Savis… Lepidus…”_ Ciel’s grip on his pen tightened; it groaned on the edge of snapping. “Ciel,” Alois whispered directly to the soul trapped inside, “you’re shaking. Hasn’t anyone handled you like this before?”

The demon within gnashed its teeth, deeply affronted by the light, glancing fingertips tracing up _his_ boy’s thigh, prodding around the hem of his trousers. Growling through his teeth, Ciel delivered a firm shove to the middle of Alois’ chest, freeing himself from his clutches. “What are you playing at?” he hissed, trying to keep quiet. But Professor Keats was already glaring at them, clearing his throat to display his displeasure. 

“I need help!” Alois called out the first excuse that came to mind, committing with a pouty face and a whine in his throat. Professor Keats scoffed. 

“Help him, Phantomhive,” he ordered, “maybe you’ll make a friend.” When the rest of the students forgot about this little outburst, Ciel relaxed, narrowly avoiding a scene. 

Today’s lesson happened to delve into the more philosophical school of thought. Mathematics could be used in many different forms, to explain endless lists of natural phenomena. New and different methods and formulas were discovered every day. The nature of numbers themselves was such an elusive concept to grasp, and it was endlessly fascinating to Ciel and his plastic mind. His youth allowed him to twist and bend with the complexities he grappled with. He understood much faster and much more thoroughly than his classmates, and he actually enjoyed it. Immersing himself in new concepts and ideas was one of the few things that could _unite_ Ciel and Sebastian; his demon’s intelligence was unmatched after all. When they worked together in the past, nothing could distract or come between them. 

Sebastian could feel it, he could _taste_ it. Ciel’s soul found peace in hard work. It embraced Sebastian so seldom that when they did work together it satisfied Sebastian like no petty feeding could ever hope for. Truly connecting with Ciel quenched his thirst for his blood, filled the void in what was left of his heart. Sometimes, he even felt it beating again, like he could suddenly become corporeal and live a life beside Ciel instead of within him. 

Alois watched Ciel burn through pages of notes, in awe of his focus and comprehension. His soul wanted to let him work and not distract him, but Claude was much too strong to even hear his demands. The longer he stared at the side of Ciel’s face, the more he craved him. He could pick up on his heart rate, watched his chest expand with every breath, saw the way his lower lip turned red when he chewed on it to get himself through more difficult equations. He was so _alive._

First he slid in closer, their shoulders barely touching. Ciel’s pen paused for a moment, but he continued working. When Sebastian’s wariness receded from the forefront of his mind, Alois grabbed onto the edge of his shirt, pulling the tails free from his trousers. Ciel’s eyes were fixed firmly on the board in front of him, but his mind was keenly aware of Alois pressing into his sides and belly, almost as if he was searching for something hidden under his skin. Low in his throat, Sebastian growled, keeping quiet enough to avoid suspicion. Drifting his fingertips down low to his navel, Alois felt something firm push back just under Ciel’s skin. He smiled. 

“Found you,” he whispered right into Ciel’s ear, eyes trained on the blackboard. “Let’s have a chat, Ciel.” Sebastian’s warning grew in intensity, drawing the attention of the two students sitting a row ahead of them to their right. All they saw was an uncharacteristically irritated Ciel and a bored new student. Alois didn’t worry. “He won’t do anything,” he challenged, speaking to Ciel’s soul and baring down on his belly, “It’ll make a scene. He’s afraid they’ll exorcise you... It doesn’t hurt much. There’s a way for our kind to avoid the pain altogether, to give it to our hosts to endure for us. But he won’t do that to you, no. You’re special, aren’t you?” 

With Alois holding him in place, Ciel couldn’t stand. He couldn’t stop him without anyone noticing. The more Alois whispered directly to Ciel lost inside, the more his words penetrated. No matter how much Sebastian hissed and glared, Ciel was listening. 

“What are you afraid of?” Alois asked, enriched by the desires of his demon, “Spiders? Snakes? Or maybe… that one of us will consume you?” The end of Ciel’s pen snapped off and flew across the room so fast that no one saw it. Alois showed all of his teeth in a virile, malicious grin. “Sebastian chose you, but shouldn’t you get a say?” Ciel’s heart rate skyrocketed. He shuddered at soft lips barely mouthing at his throat, warmed by the blood moving fast in his veins. “ _I’ll_ be gentle,” Claude promised, his voice plunging to its natural depth. “I’ll swallow you whole–” 

Reacting without much thought, Sebastian snapped and swung around, burying the nib of his pen into Alois’ ribcage. Alois gasped, lost for breath when Sebastian twisted it further into his chest. Ciel’s right eye glowed with its own fury, showing just who was responsible for assaulting him. 

“Don’t touch him.” 

Alois panted, feeling jolts of pain every time he moved. But the smirk on his face hid it all away. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked as he pulled two inches of metal and wood out of his side. Locking eyes, he made sure Sebastian watched him pop the whole thing into his mouth, cleaning off the blood and spitting it out to hide in his pocket. 

“Is there something wrong?” 

Ciel whirled around. Professor Keats was headed right for them. He hadn’t realized that today’s lesson had come to an end. The students were packing up and heading to breakfast. 

“I can’t bare the sight of him,” Ciel told the truth, blunt annoyance clear in his voice. Alois’ jaw dropped. 

“He hurt my feelings!” he wailed, “all I wanted was some help! It’s not _my_ fault that–”

“Mr. Trancy,” Keats interrupted. He took a deep breath, finding it increasingly difficult to deal with the quarrels of young men. It concerned him to see Ciel in such a state. He was normally much more level headed. He seemed to be right on the edge of snapping, and Alois was tap dancing on his last nerve. “You have three minutes to talk it out,” he advised, “then I will return.” 

“Wait–” Ciel stood to protest, but the professor’s word was final. He departed, likely headed for the lavatory, leaving Ciel alone in Alois’ midst. 

“I’m going to make you an offer,” Claude hummed through Alois’ lips, “an offer you can’t refuse.”

“Do try not to sound so complacent,” Sebastian chided, though still in his boy’s voice, slowing down to let each word roll off his tongue. But Alois’ smirk only grew to a grin. 

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said, standing from the desk. Ciel’s eyes rolled back. 

“Finally some sense–”

“ _If…”_ Alois sauntered closer with his head held high, really taking his time to enjoy how much taller he was than Ciel. He forced him to cast his eyes upward to meet his gaze. “If…” he repeated, “you give me a taste. And only for a day.” Ciel’s eyes widened. But Alois knew that he would be forced to consider. “Who knows what I may do while you sleep,” he added, “I’ve always been rather restless.” 

Sebastian was angry, so angry it was making him violent. He wanted to fight and draw blood. He wanted to keep Ciel as pure as first snow. But nothing could deny that Claude was right. At any given moment when they’re separated, Claude could steal Ciel right from him, right before his eyes. He couldn’t remain inside of Ciel either, he couldn’t deny him his own life. There was no way around it. 

“We’re alone,” Sebastian glowered, “I won’t hesitate. I’ll crush you and the vagrant you call home.” 

“Sure you will.” Alois wasn’t paying attention. Both hands came to frame Ciel’s face, brushing away long strands of dark hair to gaze unhindered into bottomless eyes. Even with one as disfigured as it was, they spoke volumes. Sebastian was furious, that much was obvious, but just behind that, Ciel was terrified. 

_“Decorus,_ ” Claude whispered mostly to himself before attempting to kiss the lips of his newest pursuit. But Ciel pursed his lips and shied away, tensing at the brush of Alois’ hair against his skin. Claude loosed a frustrated growl, his grip on Ciel tightening. “If you act like you’re into it, I’ll disappear for a week,” he amended, so close Ciel could feel the vibrations adding warmth and bass to his voice. 

“That wasn’t the deal,” Sebastian ground out in adamant protest. But Claude would not release him. The air was thick for a stretching moment before Alois spoke again. 

“Please,” he implored with his own voice.

Something overwhelmed Sebastian’s reign in Ciel’s body; he tentatively accepted. As soon as their lips met both hellions occupying their physical skin received a jolt so swift and powerful, they had to separate. Just a little peck shocked them both to speechlessness. All the bad blood between the two dried. Ciel’s hands carded through Alois’ hair. Alois snuck a hand around to the small of Ciel’s back. Dozens of feelings he’d forgotten how to feel bloomed across Sebastian’s mind. The euphoria overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. It was so easy to let go and embrace oblivion. 

Alois handled him with care and skill, rolling their tongues slow and steady. He spooned little sighs and whimpers from the depths of Ciel’s soul and savored them as best as he could. But the more he had the more he craved. After a quick lapse in control, Claude returned to influence Alois in the right directions. Where Alois was gentle and hesitant, Claude was firm and calculated. He’d never taken kindly to being shoved out of the way. But Sebastian didn’t seem to mind. 

Unable to discern who exactly took the lead, Sebastian and Ciel found themselves trapped in a brief blissful limbo before the initial shock faded away. Ciel was backed up into the desk, mindlessly clambering onto it for more height. Claude demanded attention and focus and knowingly took it all away with every stroke. He ran his tongue over the roof of Ciel’s mouth and savored the shiver that ran up his spine. Ciel tried to stay alert and participating but Claude threw obstacle after obstacle into his path and reveled in the struggle. Ciel gave up after a while, content in letting a demon sample his soul as he liked. 

A rough grip at the back of his head ripped him right out of reverie. His neck craned back, following the shooting pain in the roots of his hair. His eyes burst open, greeted by the golden gaze of a hungry hellion. “You know, Sebastian,” Claude mused, laving his tongue over the blood vessels in his throat. Another hard yank at his hair made Ciel hiss. “It almost seems like you miss me.” Ciel whined like a trapped dog, gritting his teeth at his own stupidity. “Let your guard down, did you?” Claude observed, sucking a deep purple welt into perfect flesh just to get his blood as close to the surface as possible. “Tell me,” he growled, feeling the extent of his hunger, “do you still _love_ me?” 

Sebastian gave up the façade. Ciel’s right eye glowed and throbbed, shedding tears of blood and salt. He gasped in his own voice, completely thrown for a loop. 

“Oh, _surprise,_ ” Claude purred, “your affinity for petty human emotion has always fascinated me. You were so young and impressionable then.” With another fierce rip, Claude dislodged a patch of hair from Ciel’s scalp, but Sebastian said nothing, astutely avoiding saying too much. “Say it,” Claude pressed, “say you love me as much as this body does.” 

“He has a name,” Sebastian countered in favor of Alois and his humanity. He wasn’t an object as much as Sebastian especially resented him in this very moment. Claude scoffed. 

“Who cares?” He rudely kicked Ciel’s legs open wider, waiting for Sebastian to object and fight back. The glow in his mouth burned hot and singed Ciel’s lips. A dominant grip held him still as Claude branded the roof of his mouth with the sigil that summoned him. Sebastian took it in stride, too weak to put up a fight. Submission was safer. 

Then, in walked Professor Keats, returned from a short trip to the loo. 

“BOYS!” he roared in absolute shock. His two youngest students had gone from bickering to committing the sin of sins in the space of three minutes. Ciel was sprawled out on the desk, untucked, ravished, and barely able to keep himself upright. And Alois squeezed his waist and neck, eyes blazing and just _waiting_ for someone to come between them.

Professor Keats was speechless. He gawked at them like an affronted nun, unable to fathom the extent of the filth that had occurred so quickly. He barely registered Alois detach from Ciel, wielding the broken nib of a fountain pen. With a grunt and a flourish of his wrist, Alois drew the sharp end of the nib across the professor’s throat, ripping open a giant gash. Buckets of blood dumped from his neck, staining his clothes and the floor all around him. He was dead before he even knew what hit him.

Alois turned up his nose, but a meal was a meal. With the man expired, his soul would be too rotten to eat. He shuddered at the sickness that he’d suffer through should he risk it. The rest of him would have to do for now, if only to stave off his hunger. Only a soul could fully satisfy it.

“You,” Sebastian growled, “You did this.”

Looking over his shoulder, Claude could see Ciel’s eyes turning red. A downy black feather floated down from the ceiling, then another, then another. Claude rolled his eyes, dropping to his knees to tend to the late Professor Keats.

“Yes it’s obvious, Sebastian, you were standing right there, weren’t you?” Either Sebastian didn’t notice Claude’s sarcasm or he didn’t appreciate it one bit. Raven feathers were falling steadily, turning to dust once they hit the floor. Though the smell of all that blood was getting hard to ignore, Claude couldn’t help but show some concern. “Don’t get too excited, you’re rip him right in half.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” Ciel was starting to quake, bones aching and stretching, barely able to accommodate Sebastian’s growing rage, “but you… you connected them. That is not what companionship tastes like. Friendship doesn’t do that to us.”

“As much as I’d like to take credit, they’ve managed to connect themselves.” Sweeping his fingers through the wound in the professor’s neck, Claude licked them clean and immediately felt the power of a fast and untimely death making him stronger. Soon he was kneeling down to sap the vitality that still clung to the professor’s body. Only the smell of brimstone soured his mood enough to distract him. “Get a hold of yourself,” he complained, glaring as Sebastian put Ciel’s body through more and more stress. “You’re going mad.”

Suddenly Ciel was standing right over the body and the demon starting to pull it apart. “Don’t patronize me,” he spat, “get up.” 

Alois’ brow furrowed. “No,” he flatly refused. 

“Claude,” Sebastian warned through his teeth, “if I have to leave this body, you won’t like it. Face me.” 

A wild look burned like a forest fire in his eyes, blinding him of this breach of ancient custom. Since before God rested on the Seventh Day, before Evil could bewitch Lucifer’s mind, the villains of existence never fought in the presence of a meal. All battles were put to rest. Catches were divided evenly amongst whoever happened to be near. All was shared and no one ever questioned the comradery they treated as tradition. No one except Sebastian, so vehement that Claude could see the boy’s seams starting to burst. Ciel’s ears were bleeding, the pressure of housing the chaotic spirit of Sebastian becoming unbearable. 

Thinking quickly, Claude swiped at the boy’s knees, catching him off balance and bringing him to the ground. With one hand around his neck, pinning him down, he plucked an eye out of the professor’s face, digging his fingers into the socket and forcing it out.

“Swallow it,” Claude ordered, pressing the eye against tightly pursed lips. Sebastian refused, squirming to be free, but Claude had a steely hold on him. He tried to be patient. “Sebastian, you’ve gone too long. It’s effecting you.” Sebastian struggled, making Ciel’s nose bleed. Claude sighed, “it was amusing at first, but I’m starting to lose my patience with you.” He pressed the eye even harder. It ripped right down the middle, spilling blood like a jam-filled pastry. Sebastian wouldn’t accept it out of defiance, but the smell was starting to get to him. “You have a duty to perform, Sebastian,” Claude reminded him, “how dare you shirk your responsibilities for some sorrowful brat? No matter how tempered his soul may be. We have rules, Sebastian, and I will enforce them.” 

Claude delivered a swift jab to Ciel’s stomach, stunning him long enough to force the eye into his mouth. The second flesh and blood ran down his throat, both of his eyes turned black.


	7. Defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long guys, im a hot mess (but you knew that) anyway, i couldn't have done it without my lovely beta-friend [nips!](http://www.crispynipple.tumblr.com) she's wicked cool, go check her out and tell her i say hi!

With the clouds hanging low in the sky as they always did, breakfast in the Dining Hall commenced fifteen minutes after the early bird lectures tied up loose ends. Streams of students entered from one of four doors–each leading into different areas of the school– followed up the wall to build their plates, and sat in clusters with their friends and peers for idle chatter. At the head of the Hall sat the faculty and staff with the Headmaster at their center. He sipped at his usual cup of tea, smiling and waving to students and colleagues as they passed by, sensing the makings of a cheerful morning. 

Last in line and inwardly praying that the students hadn’t taken all the french toast, Professor Mills had begun his day strongly. He’d given an early morning lecture on Enoch and his walk with God, how he’d saved the Earth from the scourge of the nephilim. His students seemed fascinated, captivated with the mysteries of the earliest men. When class ended, he’d walked with a company of six or seven upperclassmen, discussing the lesson at length as they headed to breakfast. 

“Good morning,” Mills greeted one of the cooks as he approached her. Sister Barker was a jolly woman with rosy cheeks and a jovial smile. She wished him a good morning, scanning the room before pulling out a small plate she’d hidden below the counter, she saved the last four slices of toast just for him. “You’re a blessing, Sister Barker,” he praised her kindness. 

She grinned and pawed the air. “All in a day’s work, you old fool.”

Halfway through carrying on with her, Mills notice an excess of plates, three extra to be exact. There were 510 students and 40 staff members including himself. The kitchen had been advised to set out strictly 550 plates at every meal since the school was founded. It helped ensure that everyone had made it to mealtimes and no one had disappeared. 

Mills frowned. “Sister, are we missing some students?” He hadn’t noticed any staff members out of place, but in truth he hadn’t looked that hard. 

“Afraid so,” she conceded, “I’d be more than happy to have their share. You know how I hate to waste food.” She winked at him, but Mills’ mood was soured. “They’re probably late, Thomas, it’ll be alright,” she tried to reassure him. He nodded, accepting her optimism with a tight smile. Then he headed towards the head of the Dining Hall, right for the Headmaster. 

“Good morning, Headmaster,” Mills greeted as more of a formality. The concern in his voice was obvious. Still, the Headmaster still replied with staccato puffs of iconic laughter, happy to wish the day well with his fellow man. When Mills leaned in close, his smile fell to serious focus. “Headmaster, there are two students missing from the Dining Hall,” Mills informed, “can you guess which?” A subtle frightenedness befell the Headmaster. But two passers-by drew their attention before he could respond. 

“Goodness, is it _cold_ in Eastern this morning! Unbelievably cold!” a rather ordinary looking student complained, “like, it’s _really_ cold! It’s–”

“Freezing?” his friend suggested. They seemed to be in agreement. “Surely you’d think that because it’s summer, the drafts would be making it _hotter_ inside. Not colder.” He shook his head. “It’s beyond me.” 

The Headmaster stood immediately. Professor Mills followed him out of the Hall, hurrying towards the Eastern Ward. With all the plates taken, the rest of the seminary was within the Dining Hall. Hopefully, no one had seen anything.

The Eastern Ward descended into a frostbitten abyss. The sun couldn’t penetrate the fog that collected around the windows. Mills slowed down, arms hugging tight around his waist. But the Headmaster charged ahead. He’d sat down with Ciel at the beginning of the year. He helped him decide which classes to take. He knew where he would be. He closed in on a smaller classroom at the end of the hall. The door was wide open. The Headmaster disappeared into the classroom, brashly entering the devil’s den to save the lives of two of his students. Mills couldn’t decide if he was valiant or foolish, but he knew he’d have to go in with him. 

It was dead silent. Mills called out, but no one answered. He stepped in something sticky. The shift in the air sent wafts of the repugnant smell of a lot of blood to make his eyes water. Then he saw them; four shining beads of hyper focused light at the end of the room, two ruby and two gold. 

“Oh,” an echoing voice observed, “it’s you two.” 

“How lovely,” another commented. 

The Catholic Church’s worst fear had been recognized twice over. It’s nightmare had been realized. Two Devils had dug their way to Earth, and were working together. The hellions were alike in several ways. Mills noticed the subtle differences in their voices, one was deeper and more disgusted while the other was smug and playful, but they both held the same powerful, silencing bass that disquieted all who heard it. 

The Headmaster rushed forward to put his hands on Ciel, to hold him and force the monster out of his skin. He could practically _hear_ Ciel sobbing, trapped in unending darkness. He tripped, barely catching himself on a desk before falling face first into the gutted remains of Professor Keats, torn and unrecognizable. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, the Headmaster let out a shout and clutched his heart to hold it together at the sight of his friend and esteemed peer. 

Mills cried out from the doorway. “Headmaster! What’s happened?”

Waving his arms, the Headmaster stopped Professor Mills from entering the room. He was silent, staring at the beasts as they watched him, preyed upon him. Then the glow of their eyes disappeared. 

“...Tanaka?” 

The Headmaster gasped, sensing a shift in the darkness ahead. The fog outside lifted enough for weak rays of light to illuminate the room just enough to see Ciel leaning against a desk on the other side of the room, shaking like a leaf. Without a second thought, the Headmaster started across the room to comfort him. 

“Don’t!” Ciel shouted. He jolted like he’d startled himself with the sound of his voice. The Headmaster froze. “Don’t come any closer,” Ciel warned, starting to cry, “I-I’ll hurt you…” The Headmaster’s heart was breaking. Ciel could barely breathe, sucking in quick and unsatisfying lungfuls of air between pathetic sobs. “Something terrible… I did something terrible, I’m so sorry.”

Cautiously edging closer and closer, he could see Ciel’s skin crawling with activity. With every beat of his heart the monster inside of him coursed through his veins. But Ciel was so distraught, so utterly miserable that the Headmaster forgot how dangerous he was. Blood and gore lined his lips. It was all down his front and caked into his hair and under his fingernails. Professor Keats laid sprawled out on the floor, hollowed out by Ciel’s hand. 

Tanaka shed his title and his responsibility to the seminary. Soon he could reach him. He pulled Ciel into his arms, soothing away the tremors that shook him. The late professor’s blood smeared across his chest where Ciel buried his face. When he was finally all sobbed out, exhausted, and calming down. 

“I need you,” Ciel breathlessly implored, voice muffled against the lapel of Tanaka’s jacket, “I need your help… my friend.” Peeling away, Tanaka dropped his eyes to Ciel’s face. He soiled perfect white gloves, rubbing away the first few layers of gore from his cheeks and nose. Ciel struggled to speak, mouth gaping and eyes darting around the room. Tanaka took a knee, leveling with Ciel as best he could, holding him stable and waiting for him to calm enough to speak. 

Then he remembered something, the other student. The temperature dropped. 

“Good choice,” purred the deeper voice. The click of heeled boots gracefully touching the floor marked Alois as he descended upon them, landing behind the Headmaster. “This soul will do wonders.” 

Before Tanaka could look over his shoulder, a steely grip closed around his throat. Burning red consumed all of the fearful blue in Ciel’s eyes. With unworldly strength, Ciel squeezed Tanaka’s windpipe closed. From behind him, Alois held the Headmaster fast, tracing a major artery in his throat with the nib of the pen he’d used to murder his professor twice over. 

Ciel bared his teeth, a disgusted scowl thinly hiding the triumph the demon felt for finally destroying his biggest adversary. “You’ve been in my way for far too long, old man,” a thousand voices hissed from the rafters. Ciel looked right into Tanaka’s eyes, drinking in the betrayal he found there. A simple ruse set a perfect trap. Tanaka’s soul was weathered and wise. Both of the monsters hidden beneath the surface could taste the satisfaction, mouths filling with venomous saliva at every passing second. 

“Say goodbye,” Alois whispered right into his ear, holding him still with one hand and pressing the sharp end of the nib into the Headmaster’s throat with the other. But not a second too late, Professor Mills charged into the room.

“Saint Michael the Archangel compels you!” Mills shouted, brandishing an old wooden cross, intricately carved with ancient prayers and incantations. Two pairs of eyes flicked up in his direction, attention stolen by throbbing pain in the backs of their minds. “The Holy Spirit compels you!” The professor crossed the room, confidently approaching a grisly scene unfolding before his very eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat, stepping around Professor Keats in his disemboweled state. 

Alois was the first to stand to fight. With blood dripping from his teeth, he advanced to defend his catch, broken pen in hand. But the professor was fast. Just as Alois was an arm’s length away, Mills pressed the cross right where it met the boy’s forehead. The wood hissed and the demon within roared with pain. Alois collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

Ciel stood still, knees bent, eyes focused, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Mills eyed him with caution, like he was edging closer and closer to a wounded animal, backing it into a corner. One wrong move would set it off. He wielded the cross with hesitation, swinging his hand just a little too close to Ciel’s face for comfort. He gasped and took a small step backward, releasing Tanaka who knelt in shock. Professor Mills yanked the Headmaster up to a standing position, pushing him well away from Ciel who hissed like a cat when the cross drew a little too close. 

“Don’t like that, do you?” Mills taunted, “I daresay you look _afraid._ ” 

The professor smirked, thinking he’d won a small battle against Evil itself. He’d backed a powerful demon up into a wall, striking fear in its cold dead heart with the power of Christ. But before he could revel in this triumph, the wariness on Ciel’s face morphed into anger. He stood up straight, confidently marching up to Professor Mills, whose smile had fallen. Bracing himself to protect the Headmaster, Mills held out the cross to keep the monster at bay. Ciel stopped just shy of it.

“Do _not_ patronize me.” Ciel seized the cross and the moment his skin touched its surface, the wind howled and the air smelled of brimstone. His eyes ignited, becoming tongues of flame that illuminated the dark. The cross burned quickly in his grip. “I am a God among men. I am older than Time itself. I am _not_ to be patronized.” 

Right before their eyes, the cross burned to ashes floating away in the breeze. From the ground, Alois slowly pulled himself up, returning to consciousness in waves. Mills raised his hands in surrender. 

“Please,” he implored, “please, let’s settle this like gentlemen. Anything you want is yours.” Ciel raised an unimpressed brow, taking a hostile step forward. Mills gasped, shying away from the inferno burning up inside such a small and unassuming student. Now Alois was awake, and didn’t look the least bit forgiving. “Just let us bury our friend,” Mills added desperately, searching for compassion in the depths of depravity. 

Eyes aglow, the beasts both smiled. “Don’t bother,” they said, then their mouths filled with flame, “his soul is being _raped in Hell._ ”

Tanaka swore a prayer or two before swallowing his fear. He stood up straighter, smoothing his waistcoat over his chest. He became the picture of collection and dignity, the kind of calmness that Mills could grab onto and adopt for his own well being. They needed to play this as cleverly as possible; their adversaries were tricky. They would do everything in their power to cause a panic, to make the school’s leaders look like fools in the eyes of their students. 

“Right this way,” Mills prompted, gesturing towards the door that lead out into the hallway. Tanaka was the first to step out into the sun. He found solace in the warmth on his skin. Mills didn’t wait for the hellions to make their decision before stepping out himself. But after a moment of shared suspicion, Ciel emerged from the darkness first and Alois followed shortly after with a new smear of blood coating his face. 

The school had gradually begun to fill in the time that’s passed. Students, teachers, and housekeeping staff were headed to their next engagement as their Headmaster lead two students through the halls towards the Northern Ward. Many stopped, staring at the strangest sight they’d ever seen. That new student, cleaned up and given a uniform, and that quiet fellow many believed didn’t actually exist– the ghost of the school– were seen together in the company of the two most esteemed men in the seminary. And they were covered head to toe in thick layers of blood and gnawed flesh. A quiet befell the halls. Wide eyed and on the edge of panic, the whispering began, following Ciel and Alois like the air itself. 

“I’ve never seen him… _walk_ like that.”

“Like what?"

“Confidently…”

Ciel floated down the halls, royal and righteous with his head held high, with the posture of a king. It caught the eye of a fair few in awe of the stately way he carried himself. They thought for a moment that he might not even _be_ Ciel. Perhaps he had a twin. Some of the staff who knew of Ciel’s noble family weren’t surprised. His blood was blue. He’d make a great man someday, just like his father. He radiated a pride that made the others forget the horrors that have just occurred, that they could only imagine. He wore their shock like a jewel on his finger. 

Alois had always known of his confidence and wore it plainly. If anyone was fond of his beauty it was himself. A smug smirk pulled up his lips. His eyes narrowed and challenged all he saw. A small band of students from Dunhams glared at him, mumbling something about his slatternly godlessness before spitting on the floor out of spite. Two steps toward them, and Ciel was firmly gripping the back of Alois’ coat, preventing him from causing unnecessary damage. Alois bared his teeth, showing them the flesh and bone caked between them.

Dobson waited for them at the mouth of the Headmaster’s office, Sister Finch stood beside him. At their approach, Ciel and Alois combined their gaze, locking eyes with Dobson in unison. The heat in their eyes struck a terrorized chord deep within Salisbury’s prefect. He gasped and gaped, eyes bursting wide open. He made an attempt to flee, but Sister Finch held him fast, glaring at ghouls in unconvincing disguises. Tanaka, Mills, and Ciel entered the office together. Alois stayed behind. 

“You are a truly _terrifying_ woman, Johanna Finch,” a trio of voices exited his chest. Dobson very nearly shrieked. Sister Finch narrowed her stare, pursing her lips in defiance. She replied not. “I look forward to my time with you.” Alois looked over his shoulder to wink at Dobson as he departed, laughing out loud when his face went white as a ghost. 

Mills and Tanaka stood to the side, supervising as Ciel and Alois politely made their way to their seats on the punished side of the Headmaster’s desk. When they were seated and seemed as though they would behave for the time being, Tanaka nodded his departure and left the office. 

“Please,” Professor Mills encouraged, willing the tremor from his voice, “if you could wait here with me, the Headmaster will return shortly.” Alone in a room with the murderers of another professor, Mills called on the strength of a thousand angels to carry him through this. But these predators can smell fear. It aroused them, excited them. Alois passed his tongue over his lips, spilling profane light. 

“I think I like you like this, Thomas,” he observed. Mills swallowed. “It moves me.”

“Control yourself, Claude.” Ciel narrowed his eyes, setting a burning glare right to the center of the professor’s forehead. “He isn’t the one we want.” 

Tanaka stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. In the time that had passed, the majority of the school had congregated outside of his office, filling the Northern Ward to the rafters with fearful talk and hasty escape plans. Looking over his shoulder, Tanaka and Sister Finch exchanged a look. She addressed the crowds as Tanaka assumed his position as Headmaster of the seminary. 

“Faculty and staff will guide the students to the Dining Hall,” Sister Finch announced, “the Headmaster will speak on what has happened.” 

Some mumbled their protest, some couldn’t move, but eventually all were ushered into the Dining Hall. Rumors big and small circulated amongst the students ranging from cold blooded murder to a strange new disease that would end them all. The Headmaster stood before them, disheveled and stony. 

“Students,” he called, silencing the Dining Hall with a deep phantom voice, “It is time to explain to you some things that have occurred in the recent months. Sean Hennigan, second year; Henry Patrick, eighth year; and Professor Arnold Keats.” All hung their heads, quietly commemorating the loss of another friend. The Headmaster swallowed, knowing the mass’ reaction before he spoke. “It is my duty to inform you that they were murdered. By two unholy creatures who have infiltrated our school. They have stolen the bodies of two of our students, who are now in grave peril.” 

Some of the students spoke of burning the students who brought Evil upon them. Staff members wanted to quit. Sister Finch talked Dobson out of another mental breakdown. The temperature in the Dining Hall rose to uncomfortable heights. The students didn’t feel safe anymore, struggling out of their seats to riot and run home.

“We’re doomed!”

“I always knew there was something wrong with him!”

“One of them touched me, am I going to die?!”

“Silence!” the Headmaster shouted over the panic. Cutting his hands through the air like blades he stole the chaos from their minds. “Please. Know this,” he reassured, “while God gives me health, I will protect you. I swear to it. I will restore our beloved peers to their rightful ways and I need your help. Once they have returned, their place in this world is compromised. It is your duty to welcome them back with open arms. They may not behave as you’ve always known them to, but they need us now more than ever.” Remembering Ciel and his palpable loneliness made him pause. This day wouldn’t help the students accept him no matter how hard Tanaka tried to force them to include him. “Alois Trancy and Ciel Phantomhive are God’s children,” he reminded them, “They must be treated as so. Please keep them in your prayers this evening. All classes in the Eastern Wing will be cancelled for the next week. Thank you.”

* * *

“One more, one more taste."

“At this rate you’ll have to leave forever.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Meanwhile, Professor Mills stood watch in the Headmaster’s office, rapidly becoming a den for heathens and heretics, unfit for the piety of the Headmaster. The beast within Alois, whom Mills had come to understand as _Claude_ was the hedon, and _Sebastian_ the wrathful. Mills watched as Alois buried his nose in the crook of Ciel’s neck, obscenely breathing in his scent and savoring the warmth of his skin. Every second that passed, Mills could see Sebastian starting to boil over in the gleam of Ciel’s eye. 

The Headmaster finally returned. “Oh thank the Heavens,” Mills breathed a sigh of relief. Walking into a room warmed by the breath of an overexcited demon chewing at the throat of his favorite student proved viscerally upsetting. Tanaka grumbled.

“Oh dear,” Alois drawled, looking through his lashes as the Headmaster dropped himself into his desk. “I do believe you’re rather unhappy with us,” he guessed. Tanaka’s eyes narrowed, creasing at the edges, but he didn’t reply. Ciel growled at Alois’ closeness, millimeters away from snapping the next finger that prods at him. Long moments floated by in thick silence. Alois glanced over to Ciel. “How do we talk to it?” he questioned rather ignorantly.

Ciel rolled his eyes. “You don’t.” With Alois’ commanded silence, Ciel sighed and collected his thoughts. “You don’t like me,” the monster within observed. Tanaka shook his head, jaw set and eyes focused. “I don’t particularly like you either. We both want the same thing, and unless you’re comfortable with _dividing_ him–” cut off by a quick hand around his throat, Ciel was pulled right out of his chair and brought face to face with an angry Headmaster just waiting for the demon inside to say something else. “I won’t hurt him,” it promised, “I will win, and I won’t hurt him.” 

“Why not?” Mills interrogated safely from behind the desk, “is it that you won’t hurt him _yet?_ Do you think of us as fools?” 

The pressure building up around Ciel popped like a balloon. Within seconds he snapped out of an almost peaceful daze, climbing over the desk with his teeth bared to make a ghost of Professor Mills for even saying that. Gripping the back of his pants, Alois yanked him backward like a mother controlling her child.

“We like him,” he explained with a smile, locking his hands around Ciel to hold him back. “We’d never hurt him. He’s special–”

“Don’t touch him!”

Blind rage reset its object from the professor to Alois who’d overstepped his boundaries one too many times. The two went tumbling to the ground with Alois’ shoulders slamming to the floor first. Ciel followed suit, getting hands around his throat to end this cursed body. It wouldn’t take long for Claude to find another, but at least for now Ciel could find some peace in his absence. Taken by surprise, Alois put up no resistance, rapidly going red then blue with lack of oxygen. Ciel let out a feral growl finding strength in the way the capillaries under Alois’ skin were starting to pop from the pressure. 

In the chaos, Tanaka looked beyond his office. Sister Finch and the prefect Dobson stood watch, each bearing a set of hand carved rosaries. With an imperceptible nod, Sister Finch whispered the plan to Dobson and the two of them took off. Hurrying into the office, Dobson was the first to wrangle Ciel in by the neck, slipping the beads over his head and holding him fast. Sister Finch tackled the more difficult of the two, effectively saving Alois’ life and controlling the beast inside of him. With a heave, both afflicted students wretched forward and poured the contents of their stomachs out onto the rug. Weakly batting Ciel off of him, Alois rolled onto his side, choking up mouthfuls of blood and bile that were suffocating him. Ciel spit up the last of his mathematics professor’s half-digested remains. 

Painfully checking his hip on the corner of his desk, Tanaka rushed out to embrace his boy finally returned to him. Mills knelt beside them. 

“Where am I?” Alois panted, finally in complete control of himself for the first time in months. His memories were a blur, these people were strangers. “Where am I? What’s going on?” 

“Ciel,” Professor Mills whispered, keeping his voice low. He could see him shaking. He was barely breathing, heaving up another stream of vomit that made his throat burn. He clutched at the beads around his neck for dear life, lost in a daze of confusion and terror. 

“Where is he? I can’t– I can’t feel him–” Alois could feel the emptiness starting to spread from the pit of his stomach outwards, turning his insides to dust. It was like a hole punched into his chest, aching and vacant. “Claude! Claude, please!” Deliriously scanning the room for signs, he tugged at his clothes. His sleeves, the buttons holding his jacket closed, his collar. He found the rosary hung around his neck; yanking at them and imprinting the carvings on the beads into his skin.

“Don’t!” the professor shouted, diving to rip the boy’s hands away from his throat. “Do not remove those, you’ll put us all in danger!” Alois struggled, babbling broken forms of his demon’s given name; paying no attention to Tanaka as he hooked his arms under Ciel’s armpits, holding him up when he couldn’t support his own weight. Alois tired quickly, lacking the stamina Claude had always provided for him. Mills held him fast, preventing wandering hands from removing the rosary. 

“Ciel?” Tanaka implored, looking for signs of life in his withering gaze, “Ciel can you hear me?”

“Wait,” Alois drew Tanaka’s attention, “I know that name.” Eyes squinted, Alois scrutinized Ciel’s face, the vacancy he expressed. Dark lashes hung low over deep lapis eyes, lips and cheeks tinted red from effort and strain. “Ciel?” he questioned, looking for any difference in his face that would count as a response. Ciel remained catatonic. “It’s me, Alois,” he prompted, “I’m your friend.”

Ciel stiffened and slowly raised his head, mops of hair falling into his eyes.

“No.” His head fell slack again, hanging loosely by his spine, “No, I’ve had enough.” Tanaka was struck dumb. He tried to shake some sense into him, but Ciel had released control of his body. He lied in Tanaka’s arms in a tangle of limbs all going numb from lack of circulation. Tanaka was frantic, carefully sweeping the hair from Ciel’s face with panicking hands, but Professor Mills saw that Ciel was languishing before their eyes. He’d been pushed too far. The grimness in his voice flew right over Alois’ head. His brows turned up.

“But–”

“No,” Ciel tried to swallow a sob but the tears were already breaching his lashes, “no, please, I’m so tired. I’m _so tired._ ” He was in pain. Every beat of his heart sent shivers of agony to raise goosebumps across his skin. “Just stop. Leave me to him. If it’s my soul he wants, he can have it. I don’t want it anymore.” 

For fear of the consequences that his soul would endure for eternity, Professor Mills interrupted with a hasty, “but Ciel, you mustn’t–”

“No!” Ciel wailed, “I’m tired of you deciding for me! Just look at me!” Mills swallowed. Ciel’s eyes were bloodshot and streaming. Tanaka held him in his lap, sat on the rug with his shoulders against his desk. He smoothed out the bunching of Ciel’s jacket where he sagged in his hold, stilled his quivering the best he could. His mood seemed grim. “I hate this,” Ciel wept, “It’s cold, it’s dark. I just want to be _DEAD_! If you won’t let me, then I’ll do it my–”

With one hand squeezing his waist, the other flew up to quiet the words coming out of Ciel’s mouth with a vice grip at his jaw. Talk of suicide was strictly prohibited. To take one’s life would mean denial of a Christian burial. Tanaka would never allow that. If he had to watch Ciel for every moment of every day, Tanaka would ensure that he not remove himself from this Earth by his own hand. Then something jolted in Ciel’s belly, adding to the shock reading plainly on his face. There was something inside of him, hard to the touch like a stone. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, but big enough to wonder how it got there. 

“Don’t touch it!” Alois suddenly exclaimed, rudely grabbing Tanaka’s hand to force it away from the anomaly living under Ciel’s skin. He’d been quiet, his heart breaking for Ciel and his misery, but this was important enough for him to interrupt. Tanaka took no offense, understanding that these were curious circumstances and Alois had always been polite in his truest form. He waited patiently for an explanation, but Alois addressed Ciel directly. 

“I-I… I’m sorry if I hurt you, Ciel,” Alois apologized, pouring all of his sincerity into his conviction, “but I think I know how to make it right.” This caught Ciel’s interest, as well as the men intent on driving out the forces of evil that haunted him. It took a moment for Alois to really decide to help, weighting the pros and cons in his mind. But the anguish that Ciel wore like a veil over his face convinced him. “I have to speak to Claude.”

* * *

With the help of Dobson, who visibly calmed at the sight of those beads around Alois’ fending off the demons, Alois was taken to a nearby broom closet grudgingly given up by Sister Finch. She took her time in clearing it out, carrying armfuls of cleaning tools and extra supplies out into the hallway. It was barely big enough for Alois to fit with most of the space taken up by shelves. A small oil lamp was set out of Alois’ reach to sap the power of the hellion they were about to summon _intentionally._ The light would weaken it, making it easier to rescue Alois if need be. 

“Any sign of danger, and we’ll be in to save you,” Mills promised with a squeeze to Alois’ shoulders. He shrugged the professor’s hands from him and insisted that his caution wasn’t necessary. 

“I won’t be long,” he reassured. 

With a shove much firmer than was outwardly respectful, Dobson pushed him square in the back, taking the rosary around his neck with him. Like a bat out of Hell, Claude was released from confinement, filling the space in the closet with stretching power. The closet door slammed shut with the force of his body slamming backwards into it. Legs splayed and wrists glued over his head, Alois was paralyzed. When the little closet filled with black smoke, his heart beat a little faster. But he wasn’t afraid. 

Two golden eyes, slitted like a cat’s, opened inches in front of him. 

“ _I missed you,_ ” Claude’s voice echoed right in his ear, hushed and concerned like an early morning lover. Breathing a sigh of relief, Alois smiled wide in the dim light. He willingly inhaled black fog that made his head swim. “ _They tried to separate us. What have they done to you?”_

Vapors exhaled from the darkness surrounding Claude’s eyes drifted closer, and Alois accepted the embrace with fervor. “I’m fine,” he affirmed, starting to feel light headed, “I can’t see you. Are you too hurt?” 

_“Graviora manent.”_

A ball of anxiety rose in Alois’ throat, a foreboding feeling forcing it up even higher. 

“Claude, I wanted to ask you something,” Alois started, the grip on his body tightened up almost like a reflex, like a silent reminder of who he belonged to. But Alois had to ask. “How do I get rid of a demon? For good…?”

The temperature in the closet plunged. Alois could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his head. Claude’s eyes narrowed. 

_“Do I not satisfy you?”_

“I-It’s not about us. I still want you–”

The hold on Alois fell away. His hands fell to his sides, his shoes unrooted from the floor. 

_“I won’t make you suffer, Alois,_ ” Claude spat from the shadows, voice lilting to veil the spite that lied beneath, not so much to hide it but obscure it from view. To change it’s shape, disguise it as hurt and betrayal. “ _Cast me out,_ ” he challenged dryly, “ _leave me to waste away under the eyes of your God.”_

“No! No!” Alois wailed, falling to his knees. “God, please don’t, I can’t stand it! I can’t stand thinking of you like that!” From the fog, a gloved hand reached out to still the tearing at Alois’ hair. Threatening talons scraped lightly at his cheekbones, urging him to look into the darkness. 

“ _Stand,_ ” Claude beckoned, softening again. He understood. “ _This is about Ciel Phantomhive,_ ” he guessed correctly. Alois nodded his head, vacantly peering into those golden eyes. “ _You like him, don’t you? You like the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you.”_

“I don’t really know him that well...” Alois’ pupils swallowed up the blue of his eyes. An oblivious calm stole all of his focus. All he heard was Claude speaking to him, touching him. 

“ _You will.”_

The memories returned to him all at once, flooding his mind with flashes of tension that broke in waves of shy smiles and the excitement of making a new friend. He remembered. Ciel was cleaning his room. He was afraid of Alois at first, but he was starting to warm up to him. He liked the idea of calling him his companion. Alois remembered the flush in his cheeks, the intensity of his focus on every word he said, his underlying tartness that seldom showed through for anyone else. 

_“You’ll like the way he feels against you, the way your hearts beat in tandem.”_

New images passed through his mind’s eye: Ciel was laughing, pulling faces in class behind the professor’s back, coughing up a lung at his first attempt at smoking. Then they were on the roof of the conservatory, looking down at all the greenery inside, talking about their hopes and dreams for the future, the future they planned together. It all seemed so real, so close he could reach out and touch it. 

_“You enjoy him. You must if you wish to help him be free of his demon, to break a sacred contract older than you could ever imagine. You want to protect him. You care for him. You want to be his one and only.”_

All around him the cramped closet filled with smoke. It poured into his lungs, seeped into his blood. Claude held his boy close, luring his attention with ease. But Alois did resist enough to stammer out, “But I–”

 _“Oh, Alois,_ ” Claude interrupted, “ _I know you love me. You’ll never be without me. I’ll help you under one condition.”_

“Anything,” he replied without a second thought. But Claude had fallen silent. The oil in the lamp was running low. With the light slowly dimming, Claude regained his power. He sat deep in the corner of the closet, staring at Alois’ growing pliance, never blinking or shifting his gaze. “I said anything,” Alois repeated anxiously, “Anything, please. I’ll do anything.” 

_“When the time is right,_ ” two rows of jagged teeth bared themselves in a wide grin, “ _bring him to me._ ” Claude’s voice rang out from the walls. Thin lips peeled away from those teeth moved not to form words. The words formed themselves out of thin air. “ _I will not harm him,_ ” he promised with charm and poise barely hiding subtle laughter, “ _I wish to add him to our family.”_

“Okay,” Alois conceded, “okay, I’ll do it.” Nearly inaudible laughter echoed from the rafters. 

“ _The procedure is simple. Sebastian and I occupy different circles. Methods of casting him out will not work on me._ ” Alois nodded, committing each word to memory knowing that Claude would never repeat them again. “ _Sebastian is reckless. Irrational. He’s wasting his strength, throwing it carelessly every which way in a futile attempt to capture Ciel’s attention. He’s weak for him. That is the way in. And now is your opportunity.”_

One of the best kept secrets of Claude’s kind, older than the Earth itself, was handed off without a second thought. It was straightforward. Attainable. _Easy._ Without another word, Alois let out a shaky sigh to compose himself and tapped on the closet door. He was ready to be let out.


	8. Procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas my lovelies! my gift to you! as always, couldn't have done it without [nips](crispynipple.tumblr.com) my home gurrr and beta extraordinaire! how are your holiday's going? (ps. happy birthday victor my love! my project for you will go up next year!)

“Ciel!” With a gust of wind in his wake, Alois flew into the Headmaster’s office. “Ciel, Ciel,” he breathlessly babbled, dropping to his knees. Tanaka still held Ciel upright, supporting the weight of his head and heavy heart. Alois coddled Ciel without a second thought, brushing his hair from his eyes and rubbing life into his cheeks, awakening the blood beneath his skin until his face flushed red. Alois couldn’t stop calling out to him, whispering his name like a mantra. “Ciel, please,” he begged, “are you okay? …Say something! ” 

Mills appeared in the doorway, brows gathered in response to a sight unforeseen. Even Tanaka dared to give Alois the control he deserved, watching as the light slowly returned to Ciel’s eyes. Tanaka took his seat at his desk, quietly groaning at a slight pain in his knees from years of movement. Alois held tight to Ciel, holding him and keeping him from falling the rest of the way to the floor until he found the strength to sit up on his own. 

“Ciel,” Alois beamed, “I can do it. I can free you.” 

A spark. A glimmer of light ignited somewhere inside of Ciel.

“Balderdash,” Mills swiftly dismissed, standing over them in silent patronization. Everyone looked over in surprise. 

“It’s true!” Alois exclaimed. 

“And why should we listen to you?” 

Tanaka was taken aback by the professor’s mistrust. Ciel, still too weak to speak, gaped like a fish. Professor Mills took a step closer, waiting for a reply, and Alois instinctively clutched Ciel firmer to him, aggression right under the surface should Mills close in a little too much. 

“I guess _you_ don’t have to,” he spat. And that was the last he spoke to Professor Mills, ignoring him completely. “But Ciel,” he implored, “I can do it. It’s wrong. It’d be breaking the laws of Fate itself. But I can do it. I can break your contract.” Ciel’s hand closed around Alois’ wrist, squeezing with intent. He took quick, fleeting breaths, his heart beat out of his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but Alois interpreted his excitement as fear. “It won’t hurt! I-I mean… it might hurt a little but it won’t be intentional. Just… just _trust me!_ I can do it!” 

Mills huffed. “The only way is exorcism.”

“And how is _that_ coming along?” Alois shot back. Having none of it, Mills reached down to pull Alois to standing and give him a stern talking to, but Tanaka interrupted before he could get a good grip at the boy’s collar. 

“That will be all, Professor Mills,” he said evenly, employing his oldest trick. The professor’s eyes grew five sizes. 

“But, Sir!” he protested his sudden dismissal. But Tanaka’s words were final. They always were. Mills growled, pivoting around to stalk out of the office when he locked eyes with Ciel. With every breath he took he regained some of his control. He reached out to beckon for the professor’s hand. Mills helped tug Ciel to his feet, spotting him for a moment as he swayed uncertainly on his feet. With a deep breath, his wits returned. Alois caught him by the shoulders, searching his expression for any pain or hopelessness. 

“Why do you want to help me?” Ciel asked. He looked up at him with no conjectures as to how he would reply. He couldn’t guess any particular motive, couldn’t see how he could be of use to Alois at all. 

“Because I–” Alois rushed, very nearly saying something brash before something Claude had said to him flashed across his mind’s eye. 

_You want to protect him. You care for him. You want to be his one and only._

“I…” 

Claude’s premonition was right. Ciel glanced back and forth from one eye to the other, quietly whining about the grip tightening up on his shoulders. 

“You’re… You’re miserable,” Alois excused, swallowing thickly, “and I don’t want you to be. I promise it’ll be okay. We can get rid of Sebastian.” Ciel gasped at the sound of that name, eyes darting around but he saw nothing that would alert him of the monster’s presence. None of his favorite forms entered the office. Alois apologized, seeing the fright plain on his face. “He’s injured. It’ll be easier this way. Claude can keep him away while we do it. But you just have to trust me.”

“Okay,” Ciel nodded, “okay.” 

It was decided. Alois would attempt the ritual that would sever the beast’s hold on Ciel. Mills alone questioned Alois’ motivation, practiced caution sensing something malicious lurking nearby. Not long ago, Alois was untamable. Everyone was a target to him, a challenge. It was hard to think of him softening for another student, especially a student like Ciel who was virtuous and kind. 

It was safe to say that Ciel and Alois would no longer attend class until the both of them were cured of their affliction. Tanaka would instruct Sister Finch to train Dobson to handle their darker moods and sit in as prefect to Lennon as was previously discussed. He would bring up their meals and serve as first alarm if anything should occur. With nothing else to do, Tanaka gave a knowing look to Ciel, looking between him and Alois with a smile. 

“Are you sure?” Brows furrowed in confusion, Alois watched Ciel and Tanaka converse with no words. Tanaka nodded, and Ciel took a deep breath, turning back to face Alois and the Professor. “Um… Alois?” he began, “Professor Mills? …Would you like to stay for tea?”

Alois’ seriousness broke with an elated smile. The wariness of rejection lingering over Ciel’s shoulders seemed so silly. 

Alois asked, “is that okay?” Tanaka affirmed with a bright smile and a hum of laughter. “Okay!” 

With that, Tanaka stood and nodded his departure, trusting in Ciel to show Alois their most secret rituals. He quietly grabbed Professor Mills by the arm, pulling him out of the office. Mills resisted with an affronted look upon his face, but he reluctantly followed to bring over the tea cart in Mey’s absence and left the boys alone, trusting that the Headmaster knew something he didn’t.

Ciel peeled off his jacket, grimacing at the sticky slick of congealing blood on the buttons. Alois stood awkwardly in the middle of the office, watching Ciel as he moved about with such familiarity, almost as if this office were his own. Disappearing behind the desk, Ciel sank to his knees to reach the bottom left drawer. His arms reappeared to Alois first, holding a small box. 

“Oh– Please sit down,” Ciel suddenly remembered his manners, urging Alois to sit in the chair directly across from him on the naughty side of the desk. He struggled to get the box open, but the lid popped off after some toying with it. Ciel removed a small bundle of envelopes tied together with twine, and then produced a small tin, showing it to Alois with polite excitement. “The Headmaster will return shortly with tea,” he explained, opening up the tin, “he brings these back from Germany.” 

Alois’ eyes lit up. “How many can we have?” A dozen small shortbread cookies sprinkled in sugar filled the tin. Round and hollow in the middle, Alois couldn’t resist the urge to poke a finger into the center, pulling one out of the tin to wear as a ring. 

“Usually, I only take one,” Alois was already beginning to pout. Ciel sighed, “but you can have mine as well.”

“Are you sure?” Alois asked more as a formality, marveling at the first sweetie he’d been awarded in far too long. Oh, to be as happy as Alois was when gifted with sugar. A pleasant smile brightened his eyes and flushed his cheeks. “Thank you,” he beamed, finding himself distracted with the paper left sitting on the desk. “And… what are these?” he inquired, popping the entire cookie into his mouth. There might’ve been six or seven parcels in total.

“Letters,” Ciel replied, seeming downtrodden at the sight of them, “from my family.” 

Treated rapture gave way to mild curiosity and Alois untied and separated all of the letters. Picking up the first one of the stack, he noticed that the top right corner had been torn away. Written in flawless penmanship was a few paragraphs and two prominent signatures. From the next letter, three photographs fell out. Soon it was clear that the corners were torn away from all of the letters. Alois tried to hold everything at once to see it all clearly, but Ciel quickly realized that Alois was intent on looking through every single letter his parents had sent, jumping up from his seat to get to the photographs first. 

“No– Don’t read them–” 

“I won’t,” Alois reassured nonchalantly, “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” 

“You… can’t read?” It dawned on him. Alois looked over every inch of every letter but there was no comprehension. He saw but he didn’t understand. But still, Alois stared at every shape drawn and added his own meanings to them, enjoying the wonders of minds that could stretch further than his could. 

“My father couldn’t read, so he never thought to teach me. He said there was too much work to do.” Ciel nodded, dumbly silent in his understanding. He couldn’t recall the last illiterate person he’d ever met beyond his servants, and even they weren’t completely in the dark, understanding meager words and phrases. He clutched the photographs to his chest. All were turned away from Alois except one. A small face caught his eye. “Is this you, there?” he asked, pointing at the little boy peeking out from between Ciel’s fingers. 

“Oh– uh...” Ciel reluctantly held out the photographs with the little boy and his family on top. “Yes, that’s me and my…” He trailed off, but Alois understood. On the back of the photograph, the caption _Ciel, Vincent, and Rachel: Christmas, 1885_ was inscribed in the same hand as most of the letters. Ciel was ten years old in this photograph. He sat on his mother’s lap and his father stood behind them. 

“What a handsome family…” Alois mused. Ciel’s father, proud and precocious, looked over his family with an admiration few fathers truly displayed. Ciel’s mother, Rachel, was young and beautiful with strawberry hair and deep blue eyes that she’d given to her son. And Ciel was by far the most beautiful of them all. “You look just like your father, Ciel, only with your mother’s eyes.” 

“Thanks.” Ciel stared at the floor, leaned against the wall as Alois examined his former life. Feeling his heaviness descend upon him, Alois paused and sent him a look of concern, fearing that he’d stumbled onto sensitive ground. “I just miss them,” Ciel explained, “that’s all.” 

Alois dropped the photographs onto the desk where he could see them all unhindered. Pulling one of Ciel’s hands free of his pocket, Alois held it in his and smiled up at him, hoping to relieve some of his pain that he wore on his shoulders. Alois moved onto the next photograph, a headstrong woman with short red hair and piercing eyes. 

“Who is she?” 

Ciel sighed, “My Aunt Angelina. She’s passed away recently.” Alois made a face, wondering if all the news Ciel heard was bad. It would certainly explain a few things. The last photograph was of a young girl with golden curls and rosy cheeks. She seemed to be around the same age as the boy in the first photograph. She’d be fourteen now. 

“And her? Who is she?” To Alois’ intrigued surprise, Ciel did not mope but flushed bright red at the mention of this girl. 

“She’s my cousin, Eliza–” he cut himself off, “Lizzy.” Alois could sense that there was more to Ciel’s sudden embarrassment. He waited eagerly for the rest, but Ciel worked to end it there. The stretch of silence was too tense, however, and he cracked with a groan. “She’s to be my wife,” he sped, “She’s my betrothed…” 

“Betrothed?” Alois parroted, whispering to himself until it’s meaning was burned into his memory. And then he recalled that families in his hometown didn’t arrange marriages. In fact, he’d never heard of common folk pairing their children. “Then that means…” Alois gasped, eyes blowing wide. “Are you _royal?_ ” 

Ciel paused. “Noble... perhaps,” he said slowly, having been asked a new question that he’d never answered before. “My father is the Earl of Phantomhive. We own a large company that sells tea, confections, and toys. Before my mother was Countess, her father was prominent in the peerage as well.”

“Wow…” 

The awe Alois regarded him with was almost uncomfortable, too warm and encompassing. It startled Ciel when Alois mindlessly squeezed his hand. He nearly recoiled and pulled it away but he stopped and asked himself why. Why was it making him sick to be looked upon so favorably? It made him ache, this weight of adoration, almost like he didn’t think he deserved it. 

Alois, either naive or sparing of Ciel’s feelings, chose not to draw attention to his sudden conflict, holding onto Ciel with his right hand and taking up the photograph of Lizzy in his left. He looked into her eyes. 

“She’s certainly very pretty,” he noticed, holding her picture up to his face, “she even kind of looks like me.” Alois donned a face of perfect innocence, matching his expression to the girl in the picture. The similarities were apparent to Ciel instantaneously, but he had no idea what to make of it. Alois did happen to resemble Lizzy in an older, more naughty sort of way. When Ciel returned to his senses, he saw that Alois was grinning at him. “Only joking,” he apologized for the deep blush that burned across the bridge of Ciel’s nose. “What is she like?”

“She’s…” Ciel’s throat started to burn. He swallowed, but something was different. Alois waited for him to describe her, so Ciel began with, “she’s excitable–”

Alois smirked, “ _Is_ she?” Ciel’s jaw dropped. 

“She’s very cheery, I mean,” he protested a little too loudly. Above all else Alois was still a fifteen year old boy, and was clearly much more aware of such things as the joys of young ladies, but Ciel was shocked at the smugness in his voice and continued to defend himself. “She liked her ribbons and frills and colored lollies to match all those ribbons and frills. She was very happy and liked her surroundings to match.”

Alois dropped Ciel’s hand and regarded Lizzy’s photograph. “And you entertained her and her ribbons and frills?” he questioned, looking into her eyes like she was the most boring thing he’d ever had to endure, like he was unimpressed in her very existence. His eyes flicked up to Ciel, stunned silent by his shift in mood. 

“She was my only friend,” he expounded, “she entertained me, and I her.” 

Alois heard this but didn’t seem to accept it. He looked back at her again, then tossed her photograph back onto the desk. Then Ciel could finally put a name to the coldness Alois felt in regard to her, Jealously. No, not Envy, he didn’t wish to have her lavish lifestyle. He cared not for her titles or her money. But Ciel couldn’t think of what she might have that he didn’t besides education, parents, and laborless hands. 

“Do you love her?” He spat the word _love_ like the foulest of curses, suddenly disgusted. “She’s meant to be your wife.” When Ciel could say nothing, nothing at all, Alois calmed. His upsettedness faded. “Only silence…”

The bustle of a cart dispersed the tension thick in the hanging air. Alois stood politely to greet his elders as they shuffled into the office with tea for all. Ciel offered to assist, but Tanaka waved him off, gesturing for him to take his special seat beside the Headmaster’s chair. Mills set Alois and himself up on the opposite side, quietly disapproving of the casual nature Ciel took on beside his Headmaster. When everyone was settled, Tanaka looked very deliberately at Alois, who felt the weight of his gaze immediately. It was clear that Tanaka expected him to say something, but he didn’t know what. 

“I’m sorry, Sir?” he apologized for his rudeness, thinking he hadn’t heard the Headmaster speak to him. 

“He hasn’t said anything,” Ciel took the liberty to explain, sipping from a porcelain cup, “he wants to know about you.”

“Oh, really?” Tanaka nodded with a reassuring smile. “How can you tell?” Alois asked curiously.

“After a while, you don’t need words to convey meaning.” 

Alois hummed, thinking on this for a moment. Then he leaned in over the desk, opening his eyes wide and staring at Ciel’s face with intent.

“This isn’t one of those instances,” Ciel dismissed without even looking at him. 

The first to laugh was Tanaka, booming voice rattling his chest and the chandelier overhead. Alois recovered from the shock and added his own fits of bubbly laughter to the mix. Professor Mills couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. But Ciel _smiled._

Just a flash of pearly teeth and an exhaled huff of laughter took Alois’ breath away. It was there for a mere second before Ciel returned to his usual expression. Even after the laughter had died down, Alois was still lost. Tanaka, having seen the cause of his sudden rapture, made a note of this happening for later, hearing Alois exhale one word. _Pretty._

“You were saying?” Professor Mills prompted lightheartedly, giving Alois the go-ahead to speak. Alois returned to his body with a gasp. 

“Oh, uh, we’re from Norwich,” he began, eyes skittering away from Ciel’s gaze. He felt his nose heat up. “The church changed my name to Alois but it used to be James. My parents and brother used to call me Jim, though. I used to help my father deliver flour to the bakeshop before he died. Both of my parents died in the fire.” Tanaka nodded his condolences. “Luka and I got by just fine, even though we missed Mum and Papa every day. The town hated us, but it made stealing what we needed hurt less. At first we felt so guilty.” Ciel imagined Alois as a child, young and mischievous with a demure little brother by his side. “I miss him…” Alois added sadly. 

“Where is he?” Ciel asked, captivated in the story but fearful of the answer to his question. 

“Workhouses?” Professor Mills guessed. Tanaka said nothing. 

“He’s dead,” Alois deadpanned. “That god damned succubus killed him. The Sword Swallower. It was her. Right from the start.” Underlying rage set the hairs at the nape of Ciel’s neck on end. Alois spat, “she set the fire that killed my parents.” Ciel stopped mid-sip. 

“Why?” he questioned like he was asking God Himself. Mills and Tanaka wore the same look of utter betrayal. Alois sniffed. 

“Demons can’t seek out humans. One doesn’t simply stumble across a hellion, he has to look for it. I was just so angry, all the time. I lost my faith. I would say things like _I hope the whole town burns for what they did to us._ ” Alois was transported back in time. He could feel young fury blooming in his chest. “Turns out, she’s wanted him long before that. She knew Luka would look for her and ask to use her power. He wanted me to be happy and he gave up his soul to do it.”

“No…”

Alois could see it clearly. He could feel the ripples of water on his hands. The coldness of Luka’s skin. “He was so trusting,” Alois’ voice cracked. He swallowed a sob. “There was nothing. Nothing inside of him at all.” Mills and Tanaka hung their heads. Ciel couldn’t breathe. “You know what happens when someone loses their soul?” Ciel barely shook his head, but Alois was already rolling up his right sleeve. Luka’s name was branded into his skin, printed there forever. “They disappear,” he said. “Sometimes, I wake up and I stare at this and go hours without a clue as to who Luka is.” He recovered his wrist. “Claude gave it to me. It’s a part of my deal that he won’t let me forget him. Luka won’t disappear as long as I live.”

“How did you find it,” Professor Mills asked quickly, “the creature.” In this opportune moment, Mills sat up straighter and hoped that Alois would provide some insight that the Church could use to end Satan’s reign once and for all. Alois, roughing up his eyes with his sleeves, glared at the professor. He made it clear that he was not very fond of him at all, but the insistence in Ciel’s eyes softened him. If Ciel wanted to know, he would tell him. Not to benefit the Church, just Ciel. 

“I got so angry that I sought out the Destroyer. I’d been sold into slavery in London at that point. I heard stories from the other boys that there was an angel who would avenge us. All we had to do was call him. So I did.” Alois let out a big sigh, cleansing himself of all the negative emotion rocketing around in his body, making his heart beat faster and his head ache. “When we find the Sword Swallower and kill her, he’ll devour my soul and I’ll be with Luka again.” 

“No!” Ciel interrupted with a shout. All eyes shifted to him; Alois let out a gasp. Ciel’s chest swelled with dismay. He swallowed his heart when it jumped up into his throat, squeezing his teacup until his knuckles turned white. “There has to be another way,” he begged in a small voice. 

Tanaka and Mills faded themselves into the background, their jaws on the floor. Ciel, who had never spoken as many as two words to another student, had started to tremble. They could see he was imagining the day Alois finally encountered the Sword Swallower. Who knew what happened to those who were devoured by devils. 

Alois was at a loss for words, meagerly mumbling, “I made a promise…” He immediately regretted it, watching a single tear break free and drip from Ciel’s lashes. 

“How long?” Alois was unbreathing, eyes growing wide. Ciel swallowed, trying to look stronger than he was. “Weeks?” he guessed, “Days? Hours?” Two more tears slid down his cheeks. “Minutes…?” Tanaka could see the abandonment cloud Ciel’s judgement, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He tried to comfort him, but Ciel shook off the hand at his shoulder. Deep down he knew he was being irrational, but all he could see was a world without Alois, a return to a reality without a companion.

“No, no,” Alois hushed, leaving his cup on the desk to guide Ciel’s eyes to his. “Maybe there is another way,” he suggested. “We’ll figure something out.” An optimistic smile helped make the tears stop falling. “I’ll be around for a long while,” Alois promised, taking and holding both of Ciel’s hands in his and consoling him like a saddened child. “You honestly think you can get rid of me that easily?” By the grace of God Himself, Ciel smiled again and the office was bathed in light. Even the professor’s heart skipped a beat. “Now,” Alois changed the subject, “what brings you joy?” 

The conversation took twists and turns that Tanaka had never experienced. Ciel had all but forgotten his presence and he was happy for it, content in listening as Ciel explained the wonders of the world to Alois who swallowed his every word like a spoonful of sugar. He’d never seen Ciel in such rapt fascination, whiling away hours of time drinking tea with two professors and building a beautiful friendship with a baker’s boy from Norwich. They would have never met without this school, or their affliction. At times like these, Tanaka truly believed that God worked in mysterious ways, but never did he leave his children behind. 

But soon the sun sank low in the sky, and it was time for Tanaka and Professor Mills to continue with their work for the day now long overdue. Ciel and Alois thanked them for what turned out to be a lovely day despite its dismal beginnings. On their way out, Professor Mills stopped them. 

“I will find these objects we’ve discussed,” he promised. Ciel, admittedly curious, tried not to seem so dejected when Mills provided no further clues. “The blessing on the rosaries will last for three days,” he explained to the both of them. “If you can, please perform the ritual before the sun rises on the fourth day.” 

“I will,” Alois replied with a nod. 

Hand in hand, Ciel and Alois started down the corridor. Alois wore a smile to brighten the shadowy hallways and Ciel, not entirely unhappy, did seem lighter on his feet. But he scanned the halls for any and all signs of movement. By the wary look on his face, the way he winced at every right step, the beads of the rosary hidden underneath his collar was making him nervous. Though they’d managed to sponge away the blood on their skin, it still stained them all the way down their fronts. People saw them march proudly into the Headmaster’s office. Who knew what would happen if they were discovered now. 

They turned a corner, heading towards the dormitories. They were almost there with one more stretching corridor between them and a bath. Alois squeezed Ciel’s hand, startling him just a bit. 

“Jumpy, aren’t you,” Alois observed, smiling wider as Ciel grumbled something mean under his breath. “Sorry,” he apologized through stifled laughter.

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“I am!” 

Ciel let slip a barely there smile that he would never live down. They made their way up to the pass between Webster and Dunhams where the baths were located for each house. A quick decision brought them forward, passing the baths to change out of gore-soaked jackets and minimizing the risk of people seeing them. They were almost to the pass between Salisbury and Lennon when a shiver ran up Ciel’s spine. He stopped walking. 

“Oh look,” a dimwitted voice spat at their backs, “there’s _two_ of them.” Grabbed by both of his arms, Ciel flew back against the wall, coming face to face with Johnson as one of his underlings held him up against the wall. Ciel was forced to the tips of his toes, squirming for freedom. “Where do you think you’re going?” Johnson hissed, still seething from their last encounter. Accompanied by two subordinates, Anderson and Wales, Johnson sought a bloody revenge and would be happy to pummel two victims rather than one. A happy accident to find them both alone in the empty half of the school. 

Anderson, with his grip tight around Ciel’s arm, discovered the rosary hung around his neck. He curled his lip, “Hey, you can’t wear this!” He ripped at the beads. “It’s sacrilegious! We’re sick of you defiling our school!” 

“No,” Ciel protested, struggling for freedom but these boys were strong and they were angry. They pulled the cross at the end free from his collar, forcing it over his head. “No, stop. Please, you don’t know what you’re doing!” Anderson made a face at the stink rolling off layers and layers of drying blood that soaked Ciel’s clothes. 

“Agh!” he exclaimed, “He’s covered in–”

“Put him down.”

All eyes whirled around to where Alois had the third musketeer, Wales, by the neck and he was not in the mood to negotiate. Though his eyes were level and aimed right between Johnson’s eyes, his lips curled up in a smile that made them all shudder. 

“So it’s you,” Johnson observed, stupidly unafraid of how the hall went cold and dark, “the lover.” 

Alois stood away from them, holding Wales by his shoulders and forehead like he wanted to snap his neck right in front of them. All were quiet and still. Ciel was mortified, breathless. 

“So we finally meet,” his smile grew into a grin. He spoke plainly, simply, knowing that Johnson could barely understand him anyway. The hand at Wales’ forehead migrated to his mouth, smearing half-dried blood all over his lips. “You like that?” Alois replied to a swallowed wail from his captive, “that’s your teacher’s blood.” He looked back at Johnson. “Put him down.” 

Johnson let out a shaky breath, “or what?” he challenged albeit halfheartedly, “y-you’ll snog me?” He shot a threatening look to Anderson who reluctantly held Ciel in place against the wall. Then he marched right up to him, meeting Alois halfway across the hall. “ _Nancy._ ”

Everyone widened their eyes. 

“Daniel, please–” Wales begged. Ciel was let down out of fear of what may happen. The peacefulness of Alois’ expression haunted them. They were frozen in their places. Alois released Wales with a careless flick of the wrist and the boy ran out of Alois’ reach and down the hall to safety, abandoning his leader. Anderson followed suit, leaving Johnson alone with Alois and Ciel. 

“I said… put him down… _Twice_ ,” Alois informed, calmly crossing the hall to put himself square in front of Johnson who was starting to shake. “I hate having to repeat myself.” 

“Alois,” Ciel’s voice echoed down the corridor right on the edge of a horrified cry. “What’s happening to you?” he implored, convinced that even the relief from sixty prayers wasn’t enough. 

Alois seemed unaffected by Ciel’s words, staring blankly at Johnson who’d only just discovered the gravity of his situation, positioned between two devils covered in the butchery of someone he’d known well, of someone much stronger than he. Though Ciel seemed to be on his side, who knew what his motivations really were. They could’ve been toying with him. He swallowed thickly in his throat. 

“You’re an abomination,” Johnson cursed which seemed to only amuse Alois, “They’ll hang you. They’ll burn you,” he looked over his shoulder and spat, “both of you,” to the floor at Ciel’s feet.

By now, Alois was circling Johnson like like a starved buzzard. Every shiver up his spine and down through his muscles caught Alois’ sight. Johnson cursed their very existence, mumbling to himself their sins and follies like a mantra, hoping that God Himself was listening and would save him. Not once did he find the fault in himself for challenging them in the first place. 

Alois stopped right behind him, leaning in close to whisper in his ear just loud enough for Ciel to catch wind. “Go find your friends,” he ordered, smiling and clawing at Johnson’s shoulders, “and _kiss their pretty little mouths._ ” Ciel’s jaw dropped, witnessing bewitchment at it’s finest and most palatable. “What are you waiting for?” Alois questioned, “Go.”

“Devin… Jared...” Johnson followed after them with a purpose, breaking into a brisk run as he hit the end of the corridor, “Jared! Devin! Where have you gone?!” 

With speed, Johnson disappeared from their sight. Ciel and Alois remained silent, listening to every sound that emanated from the Western Ward. All was quiet…. until it wasn’t. A roar of surprise and shock rattled the rafters. Johnson had done Alois’ bidding without hesitation. Those who witnessed were utterly aghast. At their voices, the tranquil spell that had befallen Alois lifted, breaking from his face with a wide, elated grin.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed to Ciel who sat stunned on the floor, “I did _not_ think that would work!” 

“You… you were… you…” Ciel babbled fragments of confusion and Alois’ name. Alois shrugged his shoulders, equally bewildered by their luck. The harder it was for Alois to hide his laughter, the faster the image came to life in Ciel’s mind. Johnson and his gang were never in danger. 

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again!” Ciel wanted to scream but kept his words low. “How could you be so foolish?!” he questioned, the smile on Alois’ face dropped. “How dare you put us in jeopardy like that!”

“He’ll never bother you again,” Alois defended, thoroughly scolded for such reckless behavior. Ciel scowled with all of his might, instilling a fear in Alois that he’d never felt before, almost like Ciel could generate his own frosty aura like the hellions could. “Honestly, I thought Claude would help me. When I remembered that he wouldn’t, I panicked. I got a little carried away.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I’m sorry, Ciel, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He heard Ciel breathe a deep sigh, and the air settled around them. The heat of his gaze lowered for comfort. Thinking it safe, Alois raised his eyes and Ciel’s expression had calmed from fury to tangible worry. 

“Don’t do it again,” Ciel implored, “I thought I… that I’d _lost_ you to them. That you’d–”

“I promise,” Alois interrupted before Ciel could launch into a spiral of horrible possibilities stacking atop one another. He smiled brightly, “okay?” This seemed to ease the torment for now, and Ciel returned to his more or less contented state, timidly reaching for Alois’ hand to cling to as they made their way down into their dormitory hall. “But you have to admit,” Alois added, “it _was_ rather amazing.” From the very edge of his vision, Alois looked twice at a flicker of a simper as it graced Ciel’s lips. For the third time in a short while, Alois felt his heart swell. “I think one of them pissed himself! Did you see it?” 

“The vulgarity that is your speech is utterly appalling.” 

At an observation regarding his rather base vocabulary, Alois stopped, stricken with the overwhelming urge to act on a fantasy that passed through his mind at the speed of light. 

“Curse,” he said quickly, unmoved by Ciel’s innocent confusion. 

His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Say _fuck,_ ” Alois rephrased with a smug smirk that wrinkled his nose. 

“No!”

“Say it!”

“No!” Ciel protested, cheeks turning pink, “No I can’t, a gentleman never speaks such profanity!” But Alois had already begun listing off every bad word he knew, counting them off on his fingers. Frightened of the thought of Sister Finch happening to stroll by and witness this, Ciel scanned the hallways and frantically tried to put an end to it. “Shhh! Shhh!” Both hands flew up to clamp down over Alois’ cursed mouth. His eyes glowed with absolute delight. “Alois Trancy,” Ciel spoke slowly, deliberately. “You have lost your _fucking_ mind.” 

At first he’d thought he’d imagined it. Then Alois gasped like a schoolgirl, struck too dumb to speak. Ciel flushed even brighter.


	9. ANNOUNCEMENT

Hey..... 

So, it's been almost a year heh heh. I honestly don't know where the time goes. It's been a terrible year for me, but that's no excuse. I haven't forgotten this fic, I'm working on the real chapter 9 right now and it's pretty meta, lots of mythology i made up. if there's anyone that's still reading this or is even interested in its continuation please drop me a line. the fact that it's not done and hasn't been close in forever makes me wanna delete it but i still love this plot so much. let me know your thoughts here or dm me on [tumblr](angstgods.tumblr.com). 

Thank you for your patience, 

mylifeisaverage

**Author's Note:**

> [follow my tumblr?](www.angstgods.tumblr.com)


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